


Synchronous Character Growth 101

by onemechanicalalligator



Series: Topics in Romance and Recovery [2]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hospitals, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator
Summary: I guess that's a benefit to being in a mental hospital: no one gives you a hard time for acting crazy.Abed spends some time in an inpatient psychiatric unit.Meant to be read after "Intro to Emotional Regulation" - otherwise there will be a severe lack of context.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Series: Topics in Romance and Recovery [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775179
Comments: 134
Kudos: 274





	1. Day One

_Dear Troy,_

_I don't have access to a computer here, so Annie promised she would scan my letters to you and print your emails and bring them to me. It's an imperfect system and requires a remarkable level of trust in Annie, but I'm willing to give it a try. I asked Annie to give you the phone number here, too, but there are specific hours when I can make and receive calls, and I don't know how feasible that is with the time difference._

_This place isn’t terrible so far, I guess. Everyone is nice. I tried to sleep through breakfast and they wouldn’t let me, but no one got mad or anything, they just guided me to my waffles and then watched while I ate them, and they didn’t even give me a hard time when it took forever and I was still there an hour after everyone else had cleared out. I guess that's a benefit to being in a mental hospital: no one gives you a hard time for acting crazy._

_They don’t have Special Drink or Diet Squirt, which is not great and also not surprising, so I’m trying to learn to like decaffeinated coffee and cranberry juice, which are always available. So far success is limited, but I’ve got plenty of time to work on it._

_I met with a psychiatrist and a therapist today. I have a roommate named Sam. All of them seem nice, but to be honest I haven’t said much to any of them yet. I don’t like talking about my problems and while Sam is very willing to talk TV and movies with me, the others, unsurprisingly, are not. I’m going to try to write some things down for tomorrow, to help when I can’t talk, but also I’m exhausted and maybe I won’t do that at all._

_My only real frame of reference for this experience is_ Girl, Interrupted _. This place is nothing like that, thankfully, although there are a few other patients here who I could see standing in for Angelina Jolie’s character, and maybe I feel a little like Winona Ryder’s at times._

_It’s time for group therapy, so I’ll end this. I’m sorry if it’s hard to read. My choices were marker or crayon, because pens and pencils aren’t allowed here. I chose the skinniest marker I could find. I look forward to your reply._

_I love you and I miss you. Tell me some nice things, please._

_Annie, I know you’re looking at this paragraph because you caught sight of your name. Thank you for passing along my correspondence. You’re a good friend._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

When Annie comes to see Abed that evening, the first thing he does is hand her a letter to send to Troy.

“I didn’t fold it,” he says, “because I didn’t want there to be creases that would make it harder to scan.”

Annie tries not to read it but she catches a glimpse of her name at the bottom, and smiles when she sees what it says.

“Aw, how sweet! You’re welcome, Abed!”

“That didn’t take long,” he muses. “Come sit down.” He leads her to a table in the activity room and she sits across from him. 

“How are you?” she asks. 

“I’m okay, I guess,” Abed replies. His face betrays no emotion.

“I noticed you’re still wearing hospital clothes.” Annie is concerned, because she brought a bag with Abed’s clothes over to the hospital this morning.

“They have to inventory everything,” Abed explains. “I don’t know why that takes all day, but…” He shrugs and gestures to the hospital gown and scrub pants he’s wearing.

“I hope you get them back soon,” Annie says. “What else? How is it? Tell me everything.”

“A good portion of ‘everything’ is confidential. I think you probably know that.”

“Okay, not _everything,_ but...tell me about things. How’s your roommate? What’s his name? How’s the food? Did you meet with a doctor? Have you had group therapy?”

“Good. Sam. Fine, probably, but I can’t tell since I’m bad at eating right now. Yes. And yes.”

It takes Annie a second to realize he’s answered her questions in order, and she tries to remember what they were.

“Roommate: good, name: Sam, food: complicated, doctor: yes, group therapy: yes,” Abed says helpfully, and Annie smiles.

“Good. I’m sure things will get better as you get used to being here, too,” she says. 

“Maybe,” Abed replies.

“I miss you at home,” Annie says. “It’s weird and quiet. I’ve started turning movies on in the living room while I do other stuff, to make it feel like you’re there.”

Abed smiles. “Which movies?”

“Whatever I can find.”

“Okay, but which ones?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How can you not remember?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“How can you not pay attention to a movie?”

“Abed!” Annie is trying to contain her laughter, since they’re in a public space and all, but she hasn’t had a conversation like this with Abed since...probably since before Troy left, she realizes. It feels good. No, it feels _wonderful._

Abed is smiling a little, too.

“I love you,” Annie says, as Princess Leia.

“I know,” Abed replies, as Han Solo. 

* * *

Abed thinks that in the grand scheme of _all of the days_ , today was pretty terrible, but just within the realm of _days spent in the hospital,_ it wasn’t so bad. The good thing is he’s no longer confined to a bed. The bad thing is he only gets to see his friends for an hour and a half in the evening.

Today Abed spent most of his free time watching whatever everyone else was watching on Netflix in the activity room, which turned out to be the first five minutes of a hundred different reality TV shows. Not ideal, but it kept him from having to speak to anyone, for the most part.

The thing that’s really bothering him, that’s keeping him awake in his bed at night even though they’re still giving him sleeping medication, is the thought of therapy. His session with the therapist today started out okay, because she asked him questions about his life and he answered as much as he could. But as she continued her questions got more personal and Abed had a harder time answering until it felt like his throat was closing up and he couldn’t speak or breathe or anything, and Jeff wasn’t there to talk to him or squeeze him and snap him out of it, and he figured hurting himself in a therapist’s office would be frowned upon, and the whole thing ended with him somehow curled up in a ball on the floor, and he doesn’t even remember how that happened. 

And then next thing he remembers he was in the psychiatrist’s office discussing anxiety medication, and he still doesn’t know how he feels about that, even though he’s pretty sure he agreed to it at some point. He’s pretty sure there was a time, not that long ago, when his memories weren’t all fragmented and cloudy. And not even just his memories; sometimes he feels like he’s trying to live his life but he’s not quite all there, like he’s watching everything happen but isn’t in control of any of it. It’s a terrifying feeling, and one he’s never been able to explain, and usually when it happens he just hides from the world until it goes away, only lately it doesn’t go away so easily, and also it’s impossible to be alone here.

Abed thinks that “overwhelmed” is now his default state, ever since the day Jeff brought him to the hospital, and he doesn’t understand how anyone here is going to be able to fix that. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to get better if he can’t even talk about the things that are destroying him. He wonders how long it’s going to take for someone here to realize that there’s nothing anyone can do, because all of this is _Abed’s fault._

Sam stirs in the bed next to him and Abed remembers group therapy, and how he sat folded up in the corner and zoned out while everyone else participated, and he’s relieved and ashamed and frustrated, and it’s too many feelings, too late at night.

He gets out of bed and wanders into the hallway, in search of a cup of water. A patient tech asks him if he would like a cup of tea, and Abed shrugs, because Annie taught him to like tea when she moved in with him and Troy, and then he nods and the tech brings him a cup of chamomile. Abed sits in a chair and drinks it while the tech talks about TV shows, and by the time Abed finishes his tea he’s joined in, turned it into a conversation, and when he gets back to his bed a few minutes later he falls asleep right away.


	2. Day Two

“So, how’s it going?” Jeff asks, sitting across the table from Abed in the activity room for visiting hours. 

“Fine, I guess,” Abed replies. He looks exhausted. Annie brought him some clothes yesterday, and Jeff is relieved not to have to see Abed’s bony limbs poking out from a hospital gown anymore. Abed has gotten to be the kind of thin that’s unsettling to look at.

“I brought you something,” Jeff says, sliding an envelope across the table like a bribe.

“From Troy?” Abed asks, eyes lighting up. 

Jeff nods. Abed holds the envelope delicately in his hands and fidgets with it, turning it over and over, but he doesn’t open it. 

“You can read it now, if you want,” Jeff offers, but Abed shakes his head.

“I’ll have plenty of time later,” he says. “It’s our visiting time right now. I don’t want to waste that.”

“Fair enough,” Jeff says, and he can’t help grinning, even though he tries to play it cool. He’s still kind of baffled at how intense his friendship with Abed has become over the past few days, but he knows it’s a good thing, and now that he knows Abed is safe here, maybe he’ll finally be able to sleep at night. Because he hasn’t gotten a full night’s rest since the day he brought Abed to the hospital, and that’s probably not great.

“How’s Greendale?” Abed asks.

“Do you actually want to know, or are you asking to be polite?” Jeff asks.

“I don’t usually make a practice of asking questions to be polite,” Abed points out.

“It’s the same as usual, I guess,” Jeff says. “Which is to say, nothing makes sense and everything is chaos all the time, and yet somehow the study group still finds time to meet. Oh, and I think the dean is relieved not to have to cover my classes anymore. I don’t even want to know what he did with my students. I haven’t asked.”

“I miss it,” Abed says. “I feel isolated. Like I’m a few episodes behind.”

“Abed…”

“Real life isn’t TV. I know.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know it’s weird and unhealthy to think like that,” Abed says. “But when reality is bad and loud and suffocating, it kind of gives me something to cling to. Like if I can use TV as a frame to hang my experience on, I can process things better. I’m sure that doesn’t make any sense to you, and that’s okay. It is what it is, I guess.”

“Are you talking to your therapist about this stuff, Abed?”

Abed is quiet for a few moments. 

“I probably should,” he finally says. “But I every time we start to talk about anything important I lose my voice, so I’m probably just going to end up staying here forever and making zero progress.”

“Abed.”

“I mean, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Jeff says. “This is your second day. And it’s not like your last few days have been particularly relaxing. Give yourself some time to adjust. I guarantee your therapist has seen this before.”

“Yeah,” Abed says, uncertainly.

“Don’t give up,” Jeff says. “You’ll get there.”

Abed nods and swallows, and Jeff gives him a minute to get his composure back.

“Tell me more about this place,” Jeff says. “How’s your roommate?”

“His name is Sam, and I’m not allowed to tell you anything about him, because that’s his business, but he’s nice enough. He likes to talk about movies, which works out well for me. And he doesn’t snore or scream in his sleep or anything.”

“Excellent,” Jeff says. “Tell me another good thing about this place.”

“They don’t care if it takes me two hours to finish my lunch,” Abed says. “Well, so far at least.”

* * *

 **_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

 **_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

 **_SUBJ:_ ** _Letter for Abed - please don’t read, thanks Annie!!_

_Dear Abed,_

_Thanks for writing to me so quickly. Getting your scanned letter was awesome. You made the right choice writing in marker. I probably would have picked a crayon, because crayons are awesome, and then you wouldn’t be able to read it. So, good job._

_I’m really glad we got to talk yesterday. I wrote down the times when Annie said you can get phone calls and I’ll do my best to try to call you one of these days. But things are kind of unpredictable now that we’re back at sea. LeVar spent a bunch of money on a thing that makes it so we have the internet pretty much always, though, which is really cool and means I can keep in touch with you regularly. I think he’s missing people, too._

_It was really nice to email with Annie yesterday. I miss the whole group, but especially you and Annie. (Especially, especially you, though, duh.) Will everybody be able to come visit you? Have they been supportive of you? Do I need to yell at anyone? Because you know I will._

_I know I told you this on the phone and it kind of broke you little but I have to tell you again anyway. I’m really proud of you and the fact that you are doing this. You told me some things about your life a long time ago and it’s always worried me that none of it was ever resolved, and I think you carry a lot of stuff with you all the time from, like, your parents and your childhood and stuff, and I hope maybe you can get help with some of that stuff now. Most of all I just want you to feel better and be safe. That’s the absolute 100% most important thing, Abed. Okay?_

_So, good luck with all your therapy. I bet it’ll be a lot more helpful than Britta’s “therapy.” I don’t think friends are supposed to also be your therapist? Anyway, I hope you can write some stuff down and get to a point where you can talk about some of the bad things. You’re in kind of the ideal place to do that, right? Because there’s like, literally nothing else you have to deal with at the same time, like school or whatever. I don’t know, that seems good, and I hope it is._

_Okay, enough of that for now._

_That sucks about the beverage options. Decaf coffee and cranberry juice are gross, so good luck learning to like them, I guess? But I’m glad they aren’t giving you a hard time about meals and stuff, that sounds like maybe a little bit of a relief? Like maybe one fewer thing to have to stress about while you’re trying to get better?_

_Here are some nice things: 1. It turns out LeVar and Clone Troy get along pretty well, which is a relief since we’ll be each other’s only company for a long time. 2. I saw some whales the other day and it was really cool. 3. Troy and Abed are together! (I know it’s silly. I don’t care.)_

_I miss you so much. To be honest, I’m kind of bored sometimes on this boat, which is probably why this email is so long. And also when I’m writing to you it kind of feels like you’re there with me? Which is really, really nice. I wish you were here with me. I want to be able to see you, and smell you, and touch you. Is that weird? Ugh, probably. Whatever. It’s true anyways._

_I love you, Abed. Can’t wait to hear from you again soon._

_Love,_

_Troy_

* * *

After Jeff leaves, Abed spends most of the evening sitting on his bed, reading Troy’s letter over and over and over. He’s kind of surprised that Troy wrote so much. He’s also very, very grateful, because reading it makes Abed feel like he has a piece of home, and he needs that very much right now.

He realizes one of the hardest things about this experience is not having access to his movie collection. He’s so used to watching a movie whenever he’s in a certain kind of mood, or needs a certain kind of distraction, or wants to study a certain aspect of human interaction that doesn’t quite make sense to him. Without his movies, Abed feels aimless and lost, like there’s nothing tethering him to his real life. 

Except for Troy’s letter, which is why he’s gripping it like a lifeline, rereading the words until he memorizes them, trying to hear them in Troy’s own voice. He wants to write back immediately, but it’s already getting late and tomorrow he’ll have more to write about, anyway. He’ll write a long letter, too, in case Troy is as lonely as he is.


	3. Day Three

_Dear Troy,_

_I’ve read your email multiple times since Jeff brought it to me yesterday. It’s comforting to feel like I have a piece of you with me. I’ll try to write a long letter, too, although the marker issue could prove to be a barrier. I have a whole bowl of markers next to me and all of them seem to have about six words worth of ink left in them. If Annie scans this in color, interpret the rainbow however you want, I guess._

_When I saw my therapist today (her name is Robin), I still couldn’t find my voice to talk to her about any of the things she wanted to talk about. It was terrible and awkward and a waste of time. But I did tell her about exchanging letters with you, and she suggested that I_ _try writing to you about these things, and maybe that will make it easier for me to talk to her or write to her about it later. So I want to try to write about one important and difficult/impossible-to-talk-about thing in each letter I send you. I’d ask if that’s okay with you, but I already know it is, because it will contribute to my character growth arc, plus it will be more efficient to start right away.  
_

_I’m going to start with a disclaimer, and this goes for all of my confessions moving forward, and it’s very important. A lot of things got very bad around the time that you left. It's crucial that you know that none of this is your fault. You left and I realized I was in love with you and it triggered a lot of things in me (see, I’m learning therapy words), but it wasn’t because of you. Most of those things were already there, just waiting for a reason to come back up to the surface. So please don’t take any of this as me blaming my issues on you leaving. Okay? It is essential that you know that. And I think probably you do, because you knew I wasn’t always okay, even before you left, even when no one else did._

_Okay, here’s my Confession of the Day (I can already tell this is going to be a painful yet hopefully ultimately useful trope):_

_I stopped eating when you left. Not completely, obviously, because I would have died. But I pretty much only ate enough to keep from dying, and I pretty much only ate buttered noodles and Lucky Charms. And then one day I ate enough to keep from dying but not enough to keep from fainting, and Jeff found me, and here I am._

_It wasn’t because I was scared of gaining weight, even though people here keep asking me that. I wish that was it, because that’s a story arc I know, that’s a Very Special Episode, that’s DJ on_ Full House _or Jessie on_ Saved by the Bell _, and a sitcom can solve that in one episode. Even if mine couldn’t be solved in one episode, even if it was a season arc, or a series arc, at least I wouldn’t feel so alone._

_But that’s not what it is. I just can’t eat. I can sit and stare at my food and I can’t make my muscles move to pick up the fork, or I can’t make myself chew, or I can’t swallow, which is scary and gross. Nothing tastes normal and everything feels weird in my mouth. The textures and temperatures are wrong and just the thought of eating certain things makes me want to scream or jump out of my skin or hyperventilate. It’s like my normal weird food stuff only cranked up to 11._

_The doctor in the regular hospital told me if I didn’t eat three meals a day they would put a feeding tube in my nose. So I ate, and it was torture, and it took me forever, and I didn’t even finish my last meal there, Jeff threw it away before the nurse came in. They aren’t threatening me with a feeding tube here, but they also won’t let me get away with not eating, even if it takes me hours to finish, and they keep trying to get me to drink Ensure shakes between meals, and I really am trying, but I’m afraid it doesn’t look like it to anyone but me._

_The worst thing about it is I know it's a problem and I know it's irrational and there's still nothing I can do about it. And it's embarrassing. I really don't get embarrassed easily, you know that, but this is an exception, I guess, because I'm so ashamed not to be able to do a thing as simple and normal as eating, especially when I could do it just fine a few months ago. I don't understand. And if I don’t understand it, how can I fix it?_

_There were more things I wanted to tell you about, probably, but this letter is so much longer than I expected and I have a pile of empty markers beside me and my hand is cramping up. I think I’m going to have someone make a copy of this before I give it to Britta to give to Annie to scan to you, so that I can show Robin tomorrow._

_I love you, and I miss you, and I love you. Thanks for being you. Sorry I didn’t answer any of the questions you asked in your letter._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

Britta thinks that as a psych major, she really shouldn’t be nervous to visit a mental hospital. She can’t help it, though, and she dawdles so much she’s running a few minutes late, and visiting hours have already begun by the time she arrives. Someone takes her to the activity room and there is Abed, standing next to a table waiting for her. It’s a huge relief to see him in his regular clothes again, even though his skinny jeans look baggy on him now.

“Hi, Britta,” he says, and he’s smiling, but he looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hands are shaking a little bit. He sits down at the table.

“Hey!” Britta sits down across from Abed. “How’s it going?”

“Okay,” he replies. “Can you give this to Annie?” He slides a few sheets of paper to her, face down.

“Sure,” she says. “Is this a letter for Troy?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to fold it, because she’s going to scan it to him. But I would really appreciate it if you would promise not to read it. It’s pretty personal. I didn’t have an envelope.” He’s looking down at the table, fidgeting and picking at his cuticles.

“I promise,” Britta says, trying to show her sincerity in her voice, and Abed seems to pick up on it because his shoulders relax a little bit. “I’ll take it by the apartment on my way home,” she adds, and he nods, looking relieved.

“Thank you,” Abed says. “I really appreciate you guys all helping me with things. Especially Troy things.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Britta says. “Don’t even worry about it. We want to help you. Especially with the Troy things, because it’s adorable.”

“Okay,” Abed says. 

“So how is it here?” Britta asks, her nervousness quickly turning to curiosity as she looks around.

“It’s fine, I guess. It’s a hospital. They want me to talk about my feelings and I can’t. I don’t like decaf coffee or cranberry juice yet. My roommate is nice.”

“Why can’t you talk about your feelings, Abed?”

“Britta.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t try to therapize you. But you know, you _can_ talk to me about things, if you want to. If you think it might help, I’m willing to listen.”

Abed is quiet for a few moments, and Britta waits.

“Do you know that feeling,” Abed finally says, “when there’s something you need to say, and you don’t want to say it, but you know that you have to, but you just can’t? Like the words get stuck in your throat and you choke on them? And it’s so frustrating because you’re not trying to be difficult or make things worse, but you can’t explain that either, because the words are just gone?”

Abed looks down at the table and pulls his sleeves down over his hands, gripping them tightly, like they’re going to anchor him here somehow.

“Yeah,” Britta says. “I do know that feeling.”

Abed looks up, startled, and he makes eye contact with her for just a second, and Britta feels more connected to him than she has in all of their years of friendship. 

He doesn’t say anything, so Britta keeps talking.

“For me it’s usually stuff that maybe I tried to say before, maybe when I was little, even, and no one would listen, or believe me? And after awhile, my voice just kind of disappeared, and then I couldn’t say those things anymore.”

Abed opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything, just stares straight ahead, and Britta can almost see his brain working.

 _“What is your childhood trauma?”_ Abed murmurs.

“What?”

“Cordelia Chase. From _Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”_

“What?”

“Britta, I think we just had our first breakthrough.”

* * *

Abed goes to bed after Britta leaves, even though it's still early. His therapy session, where he said nothing and Robin made the suggestion to write to Troy, had exhausted him. Actually writing the letter to Troy had drained the rest of his energy. And then Britta had come to see him, and when she started talking about losing her voice because no one would listen, he had realized that maybe that had happened to him, too. That maybe some of this, or a lot of this, can be traced back to his past.

And it’s a great breakthrough, and he doesn’t have the emotional energy to think about it right now, because his memories are all sad and fragmented and confusing, and thinking about them makes him feel like there’s something pressing on his chest, and he knows pretty soon he won’t be able to breathe.

Abed closes his eyes and tries to think about nice things, and when he falls asleep, he dreams that he’s on a boat looking at whales with Troy.


	4. Day Four

“Have you been sleeping, Abed?” Annie asks at visiting hours, as she hands Abed an envelope containing Troy’s letter. Both times she’s visited Abed he’s looked like he’s about to fall over, and Jeff and Britta both commented the same thing after visiting him.

“Kind of,” Abed says. “I wake up a lot. And our room never gets dark because of the light in the hallway. We’re not allowed to close the door. Plus someone comes in and checks on us every 15 minutes. It’s not an ideal environment for sleeping. Actually, that’s the part of this that’s most like _Girl, Interrupted,_ I think.”

“Have you talked to your doctor about it?”

“About _Girl, Interrupted?”_ Abed gives her a strange look.

“About sleep,” Annie clarifies. 

“No. We’re at odds right now.” Abed doesn’t seem disturbed, just matter-of-fact.

“What? Why?”

“He wants to medicate me and I haven’t agreed yet,” Abed mutters.

“Oh. Well, what’s stopping you?” To be honest, Annie thinks medication would probably be a good idea for Abed.

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything against it, really, in general.” Abed suddenly sounds very uncertain.

“For other people? Or for you?”

“I definitely don’t have anything against it for other people,” he says. “It’s more complicated when it’s me, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Annie asks gently.

“I think I’ve been asked that question more times in the last week than the rest of my life combined.” Abed doesn’t sound angry, just sort of wary.

“I’m not going to stop asking,” Annie says apologetically. “And I doubt the rest of the group will, either.”

“Yeah,” Abed says.

“It’s not a bad thing. Talking.” Annie gives him a smile that she hopes he can tell is sympathetic. 

“Yeah,” Abed repeats.

“Want to try?” Annie tries to look charming.

“Will you stop making the Disney face?”

Annie sighs and lets her face relax. She gives Abed a tiny smile.

“Better?”

Abed nods.

“First of all, I don’t trust doctors. Second, I hate swallowing pills. Third, side effects. Fourth, I think I took medication when I was a little kid and for some reason the idea of it just freaks me out.”

“Why did you stop taking it? When you were a kid?”

“I think because my mom was the one giving it to me, and then she left.” Abed pauses. “Oh.”

“What?” 

_“What is your childhood trauma?”_ Abed says, like he’s putting something together.

“Isn’t that a line from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”_

“Yup. Cordelia. Britta didn’t recognize it when I quoted it to her yesterday.”

“I only recognize it because you and Troy made me watch the whole series last year!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Why are we talking about _Buffy?”_

“I have childhood trauma.”

“I know. You made all of us watch _Six Candles.”_

“I’m actually not sure _I_ knew. I didn’t know that’s what that was. I just thought…”

“You thought it was normal?”

“I thought I was over it.”

* * *

 **_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

 **_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

 **_SUBJ:_ ** _Another letter for Abed - please don’t read, thanks Annie!!! You’re the best!!!_

_Dear Abed,_

_Your last letter was so, so awesome. And not just because it was rainbow (Annie did scan it in color). I feel really, like, honored? That you feel comfortable opening up to me about that kind of stuff? So, thank you for trusting me, I guess. I keep rereading what I just typed and it doesn’t sound how I want it to sound, like if I was there in person I would just hug you and you would know what I was trying to say, but I’m doing my best and I hope you understand what I mean._

_Thanks for the disclaimer at the beginning of your letter. I pretty much know it’s not my fault, but it really helps to have you say it anyway. Just to, like, be sure. After the lava, even after the clones, I still worried that I would break you by leaving. And then all of this happened, and I think I did worry a little bit that I contributed to it. But the way you explained it makes sense, and anyway, you’re right. I knew you weren’t always okay, even before I left. I know this whole experience sucks for you, but also it’s probably good in the long run, you know?_

_Anyway. I appreciated your Confession of the Day, and I’m looking forward to more. I’m not really going to respond with advice, because I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for from me. This isn’t a “here’s what you need to do” situation. I don’t know what you need and it’s not my place to tell you what to do. But I’m always, always here to read or listen, and if there is more you need from me just let me know what that is, okay? Did you get a chance to give a copy of the letter to Robin? Did it help? I really hope so._

_Oh, there is one thing I wanted to say, though. You said you feel a lot of shame and embarrassment over not being able to eat. But I thought maybe you could try to look at that the way you look at reading analog clocks or telling left from right or paying parking tickets. Like, yeah, this thing is really hard for you to do, but you’re gifted in other ways. Because you are. You’re gifted at making movies, and quoting TV, and being my best friend, and role-playing, and Dungeon Master-ing, and speaking other languages, and paintball. I don’t know if that’s helpful, but I think you should know that that’s how I look at it, at least, and I don’t think any less of you just because eating is hard for you right now, just like I don’t think any less of you because all the clocks in the apartment had to be digital._

_I miss you so much, and I love you, and I’m so, so glad we can write letters. I plan my day around when I get your letter from Annie and when I need to send mine back to her to make sure it can get to whoever is visiting you in time. It’s kind of nice because it gives me something to structure my life around besides just sailing. My whole life is sailing and you, Abed, and I can’t wait till the sailing part is over, and the “you” is more like “us”._

_I can’t wait for your next letter._

_Love,_

_Troy_

* * *

After Annie leaves, Abed sits on the couch in the activity room with Troy’s letter and a bottle of chocolate flavored Ensure, which he shakes like a maraca but doesn’t drink. He reads the letter a few times, and he thinks that if this were a movie, and a real letter, he would smell it, try to catch the lingering scent of Troy. He’s not in a movie, though, and it’s a copy of an email, and it smells like printer ink and Annie’s vanilla lotion. He clings to the letter instead, presses it to his chest, to the Troy-shaped hole in his heart.

He thinks about what Troy said about reframing his food problem, and he likes that idea, thinks he’ll at least try. He did show the letter to Robin today, who was over the moon, and Robin is a very enthusiastic person, so it felt like this huge thing, and maybe it was. Abed still had trouble talking very much out loud, but the letter gave Robin context to ask him questions, and it felt like they actually made some progress, maybe, finally. 

Abed slowly unscrews the top of the Ensure bottle and takes a sip, and it’s all foamy from being shaken up, and he tries to ignore the chalky taste and the way it feels when he swallows, but he starts to choke on it and spits it back into the bottle. Another patient, a young-looking girl with light blonde hair, is sitting at one of the tables nearby, and she gives him a hint of a smile and raises her own bottle of vanilla Ensure, a straw sticking out of it, like she’s giving a toast.

It’s ridiculous, and Abed can’t help but smile back, and then he gets up and tosses his bottle of Ensure-and-spit into the trash can by the door. He glances back, planning to wave to the girl, but she’s followed him and he jumps, almost crashing into her.

“Sorry,” she says, giggling. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’okay,” Abed mumbles, and this is the first time he’s spoken directly to anyone who wasn’t staff or his roommate.

“I’m Emily.”

“Abed.”

“I’ve never heard that name before.”

“I’m Palestinian,” he says. “And Polish,” he adds as an afterthought, because it feels weird to leave it out, even though it’s irrelevant to the conversation. 

“Cool. So, where were you born?”

“Here.”

“Me too.” 

Abed was planning to go to his room, to go to sleep early like yesterday, but Emily starts walking back to the couch where Abed just was, and he follows, and they both sit down. 

“This stuff is disgusting,” Emily says, nodding at the bottle she’s still holding. “The straw helps, though.”

“Really?” Abed raises an eyebrow. 

“For me, at least,” she says, and shrugs. “I’m not sure why. You should try it, though.”

“I will,” says Abed. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“What’s your favorite TV show?” Abed asks, because actually, it’s kind of nice to chat with another person, particularly when his issues aren’t the subject of conversation.

“Okay, I know I’m a few seasons behind,” Emily replies. “But I just discovered _Cougar Town._ I’m on season three and it’s killing me that I can’t watch it in here. It’s this show with--”

“I know _Cougar Town,_ ” Abed says quickly, eyes wide. “I love _Cougar Town._ ”

Emily grins and Abed gets comfortable on the couch and forgets about going to bed early.


	5. Day Five

_Dear Troy,_

_Before anything else, thanks for what you said about remembering I’m gifted in other ways. It was very, very, very helpful. Also, thank you for reading my confession and being willing to read more of them. It turned out to be really helpful in my session with Robin. It still wasn’t pleasant or easy or anything, but it did feel like we were marginally productive, for once._

_Some good news, before I give you my next confession and get overwhelmed and can’t write anymore: I kind of made a friend last night. I spent some time in the activity room after Annie’s visit, and a girl came and talked to me. Her name is Emily and she’s 18, which is the youngest you can be and still be here, because the kids are locked up somewhere else._

_Most importantly, she likes_ Cougar Town, _and that’s basically all we talked about, and it was kind of nice to talk to someone who isn’t either a doctor or a friend who keeps comparing me to the regular version of myself. Emily only knows Broken Abed and I find some comfort in that, like there’s no expectation, I don’t have to pretend to be okay or normal or myself. (I can hear Annie in my head saying,_ “Abed! Don’t call yourself broken!” _But I am broken right now and it’s easier for me to acknowledge that than to pretend it isn’t true. I know I won’t be broken forever.)_

_So now there are two other patients I’ve spoken to here, Emily and Sam, and I wonder if that means I’ll be able to bring myself to participate in group therapy eventually, because right now every time I go I fold myself up in the corner and watch, and Robin keeps encouraging me to speak, and I can’t, but the fact that I can talk to someone outside of the group makes me think maybe one day I’ll be able to talk inside the group, too._

_Okay. My Confession of the Day. I’ve been thinking about childhood trauma, because it came up when I was talking to Annie yesterday and to Britta the day before. Both times we somehow managed to link things that are bothering me now to things that happened when I was a kid. And it kind of made sense and freaked me out at the same time, which makes me think it’s definitely something to talk about in therapy, even if the idea of talking about it makes me feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m literally drowning in anxiety._

_I know I’ve told you kind of bits and pieces about my childhood. Honestly, I don’t remember most of it very well. It’s not like I’m missing specific memories or anything, it’s just that a lot of things blend together, or I remember things as if someone else has told them to me secondhand, even though I know I was there, and it’s like I see all my memories through this filter of dread, and I feel small and scared and overwhelmed. It feels like swimming in the ocean in a thunderstorm, dark and loud and choppy and deep, which is something I’ve never actually done and never plan to do._

_I’m not trying to say my childhood was some kind of horror show, and I don’t mean to imply that I was abused or anything like that, because I wasn’t. It’s more of just a general badness of things, fighting and doctors and fear and divorce and more fighting and bullying and panic and loneliness and giving up. And the knowledge that I don’t belong, that I make things worse. Feeling like everyone else has this extra language that I just...don’t understand. Always being the last one to know when I screw up something basic._

_I feel like a monster writing to you about all of this. I feel whiny and narcissistic. I don’t like thinking about these things and I especially don’t like talking about them. It’s why I cling to a “unique and quirky” persona and try to ignore the reality, which is that I’m a wreck of a human who literally can’t tell left from right, and I know I’m gifted in other ways but sometimes it just doesn’t feel like they matter so much, when everything else feels so big and insurmountable._

_I actually thought I could hide how bad I was. Not from you. I was always honest with you. But after you left and I stopped eating and sleeping and started doing other things that I still can’t talk about, I still thought I could keep the rest of the group from finding out. I did, for a little while. Then I couldn’t anymore, and now they know, and I hate it._

_When Hickey handcuffed me to a file cabinet, which is a different story for another time, he called me “imaginative” and “magical” and he was mocking me but he was kind of right, because that was how I wanted to be seen. That was how I_ could _be seen, at Greendale, until it wasn’t. He saw it as me being spoiled, but I saw it as feeling normal for once. An imaginative and magical version of a real person, instead of a broken shell made up of all the wrong pieces, because that’s what I always thought I was until I met you and Jeff and Annie and Britta and Shirley and even Pierce. It was the Pinocchio trope. You guys turned me into a Real Boy. Did you know Jeff was the first person to ever send me a text message? To tell me I had value? And he was being sarcastic at the time, and it was_ still _the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me up to that point._

~~_I can’t_ ~~

_Troy, I didn’t mean for this letter to turn into what it has become. I’m sorry._

_I love you._

_Abed_

* * *

The letter to Troy messes Abed up. He takes a copy of it to therapy, but writing the letter and then immediately trying to talk about it is too much for him. Robin keeps insisting it’s still progress, they’ll be able to talk about it another time, and Abed just gets quieter and quieter. Robin has been having him bring the weighted blanket with him to his sessions, but Abed forgot it today so Robin actually goes to his room and gets it for him, wraps it around him and does breathing exercises with him for most of his session.

He goes back to his room afterwards to pass the time until dinner, because he doesn’t feel like being around people. He sits on his bed with the weighted blanket over him and he feels like he’s in a bubble, like he’s watching himself over his own shoulder, and nothing feels real. Even with the blanket he worries he’s in danger of floating away, and he doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring straight ahead, distracted by the waves of emotion that are building up inside his body and crashing into everything, and he doesn’t know where to put them, what to do with them. 

He’s so caught up in what’s going on inside his head, he doesn’t even notice what he’s doing until he hears a patient tech saying his name, and that’s how he knows he’s been sitting here for at least 15 minutes. But he doesn’t respond, he can’t, and the voice goes away, and a few minutes later there’s another voice, and it’s Abed’s nurse, Cody. He sits down across from Abed and starts talking, and Abed doesn’t know what he’s saying, he feels stuck, like he’s lost control of everything, and it hurts, everything hurts _so much._

It isn’t until he feels Cody’s hands on his own that he realizes he has yanked up the sleeves of his hoodie and he has been scratching, scratching, scratching. There are long red lines covering both of his forearms, and blood under his fingernails. He stares at them and he feels nothing, nothing, nothing, until he traces over one of the lines with his finger, presses down hard, and then he finally starts to feel the sting, and it blooms from one scratch to the next until both his arms are on fire and everything snaps into focus.

He lets Cody guide him to another room where he bandages up Abed’s arms and cleans his hands, his fingernails. He’s still talking, and Abed still isn’t registering anything he says, and then he hands Abed a small paper cup with a peach-colored pill in it and a plastic cup of water and Abed thinks he should know what the pill is, but he doesn’t, and he doesn’t have the energy to ask, he just swallows it, and then Cody leads him to the activity room where his dinner is already on one of the tables, and he sits down and doesn’t eat.

At some point he realizes he’s crying, and he doesn’t know when that started, and then he stands up and walks away from the table, leaving his tray untouched. Nobody says anything to him about it, but a patient tech walks down the hall with him and tells him that visiting hours will be starting soon, so Abed stops by his room to grab Troy’s letter, then folds himself up on the floor of the hallway and waits. 

* * *

When Shirley arrives to visit Abed, he’s sitting on the floor and he looks terrible. His eyes are red, like he’s been crying, and it takes him a very long time to stand up. He moves like he’s in pain. 

“Hi, Abed,” she says gently, and he nods. She follows him silently to the activity room and they sit down at a table. 

Abed shoves a stack of papers at Shirley, like he’s trying to get rid of them before he changes his mind or loses his nerve.

“Could you give those to Annie?” His voice is soft and hoarse. “Also, hi. Sorry. Thank you for coming to see me.”

Shirley takes the papers and places them carefully in her purse so they don’t wrinkle. 

“No problem,” she says. “Sweetie, are you okay?” In some ways he actually looks worse than the last time she saw him, in a hospital bed and IVs in his arm. He looks defeated.

“No,” he whispers. “It’s a bad day.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you need me to go? Just tell me what I can do to help you, okay?” 

Even as she speaks, Shirley is lifting prayers up to the Lord, prayers for Abed.

“Could you read to me?” Abed asks. 

“Of course,” Shirley says with a smile, glad Abed is trusting her to stay. She’s been looking forward to seeing him. She misses him. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a brand new prayer book, cracks it open, and begins to read.

He sits still and stares straight ahead, face blank, and Shirley thinks he looks like a statue. 

For the next hour and a half, Shirley reads and Abed doesn’t move. Shirley glances up every so often, keeps an eye on Abed’s face. Eventually, she sees him relax a little.

When it’s time to go, she starts to lean in to hug Abed, and then catches herself and pulls away.

“Thank you,” Abed says softly, and Shirley doesn’t know if he means thank you for reading to him, or thank you for not hugging him.

“Your welcome,” she says with a smile. “Good night, Abed.”


	6. Day Six

“Abed?” 

A patient tech interrupts him pacing up and down the hallways. He woke up fizzing with anxiety, like someone shook up a bottle of Mountain Dew and then just poured it into his bloodstream, nervous energy rushing through him, and it’s so uncomfortable. 

He stops and looks up. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since Shirley left last night.

“There’s a call for you,” she says, and hands him a cordless phone. He raises his eyebrows and takes it, then walks quickly to the other end of the hallway, which is empty, and sits down on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He clears his throat into the phone, hoping whoever is on the other end can hear it, because he’s not sure he can make his voice work quite yet.

“Abed? Are you there?”

The connection is a little staticky, but Abed would recognize the voice anywhere.

“Troy?” Abed says, and cringes because his voice sounds thick and hoarse and unsteady. He clears his throat again.

“Hey, buddy!” Troy says, and Abed thinks he sounds relieved. “Um, are you okay? Because Annie sent your letter, and I read it, and I got worried, and I’ve been waiting for your phone hours to start pretty much since then. I know we didn’t plan a call. And the connection is bad and I don’t know how long we’ll have to talk. But I had to talk to you. Are you okay?”

“No,” Abed says, and hates himself for all the things he wants to say and can’t.

“Okay. That’s okay. That’s kind of what I got from your letter. Are you safe? Are they taking good care of you?”

“Yeah.” _Not as good as you, though, or anyone else who actually knows me,_ Abed thinks.

“Good.” Troy lets out a deep breath. “Having trouble talking, huh?”

“Yeah.” _The thoughts are there, and I can’t get them out of my mouth, not even for you, and it hurts._

“Is this okay? The questions?”

“Yeah.” _Don’t ever stop asking me questions, please. It helps me feel connected._

“Did anyone come visit you last night?”

“Shirley.” _She read to me, and it helped, and then I could breathe for a few minutes, or maybe that was the medicine they gave me._

“Did she...was it a good visit?”

“Yeah.” _Shirley doesn’t make me talk about anything. She’s fine just being with me for a while._

“Awesome. I’m glad. Um. Did you have therapy before or after you wrote that letter yesterday?”

“After.” _It was terrible, it was so terrible, I ruined it._

“Did you show the letter to Robin?”

“Yeah.” _She was proud of me and she shouldn’t have been, no one should be proud of me, of this._

“Good! Look, Abed...I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time. But I hope you’ll keep writing to me and sharing your confessions. I’m sure it doesn’t feel like it’s helping, but I bet it is, or it will in the long run. Can you do that? Will you keep writing to me?”

“Okay.” _I’m sorry I’m ruining our phone call by not talking. I’m sorry I’m wasting it._

“Have you talked to your new friend again? Emily?”

“No.” _I haven’t talked to anyone. Not unless I absolutely had to. Except for you._

“I hope you get a chance to. I like the idea of you having friends there.”

Abed makes a humming sound, because Troy didn’t ask a question, but Abed wants him to know he’s listening.

“I hate to say this, but I have to go,” Troy says, and his voice is cutting in and out. “I’ll try to call you again, I promise, but I don’t know when it’ll be. Will you write to me again today? Or do you want me to write to you?”

Abed thinks about all the things he wants to say to Troy, and wonders if he can manage to get them down on paper today.

“I will,” he says quietly.

“Great! Okay. Okay, I’ll hear from you later, then? And I’ll write back to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Abed says. Then he clears his throat loudly, tries so hard to find his voice. “I love you. I miss you. Thanks for calling.” It sounds weird and shaky and shy, but it’s still his voice. He got the words out.

“I love you and miss you, too,” Troy says, and sniffs, and Abed wonders if he’s crying, but he doesn’t ask.

“Bye, Troy.”

“Bye, Abed.”

* * *

_Dear Troy,_

_I’m so glad you called this morning. It was nice to hear your voice, even though it’s only been a week or so since we talked on the phone last. It feels like much, much longer._

_I’ve been messed up ever since I wrote you that letter yesterday. It’s like writing all that stuff brought it out of me and then I couldn’t put it back in and I started to drown in it. I spent my whole therapy session breathing with Robin because I couldn’t do anything else. When Shirley came to visit, I asked her to read to me and then I just sat there the whole time._

_This isn’t going to be a full confession letter. I don’t have the energy for that. So I’m going to tell you a little bit about what happened yesterday and hope that it helps me to share more later, or something._

_After my therapy session I went to my room, and I sat on my bed and spaced out. I don’t know how long I sat there. The next thing I knew the nurse was there, talking to me, and I don’t know how long he’d been there or how long he’d been talking. And he was holding my hands and I didn’t like it but then I realized he was holding them because I had been scratching my arms and there was blood on my fingers and I didn’t remember any of it._

_Usually I always remember it. Usually it’s a conscious decision._

_What does it say about me, that I can do something like that without even meaning to?_

_Am I just that far gone? Can I even be fixed anymore?_

_I’m really freaked out. I have to see Robin, and my psychiatrist, and Jeff is coming later, and I still don’t know if I can talk, and it all feels like so much. And if this is enough to overwhelm me, how am I going to function once I get out of here? If I ever get out of here?_

_I think I'm supposed to be getting better. It doesn’t feel like I am, not even a little._

_I promise my next letter will be longer. Thanks again for calling. And I’m sorry I couldn’t talk. This letter is me trying to make it up to you._

_I love you so much._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

Jeff isn’t sure what to expect when he gets to the hospital, because Shirley texted him last night after visiting Abed and she was really worried about him. Jeff hasn’t seen Abed in four days and honestly, it feels like too long.

When he gets to the activity room and sees Abed waiting for him at a table, he understands what Shirley meant. Abed looks like a ghost, pale and fragile. His eyes are huge, and the bags under them are even bigger, and it looks like he’s maybe been crying, or maybe he’s just really, really tired. 

“How’s it going?” Jeff asks, sitting down across from Abed and trying to hide his panic at the sight of him.

Abed shrugs and doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t have a letter from Troy,” Jeff says apologetically. “But Annie said he emailed her and said you’d understand?”

Abed nods. There are a couple of sheets of paper in front of him, and he stretches across the table to slide them over to Jeff.

“For Troy,” he says quietly, but Jeff isn’t really paying any attention to what Abed is saying.

Abed’s sleeve is caught on the edge of the table and it rides up, revealing his forearm, which is covered in bandages. When Abed notices, he yanks it back down and pulls both sleeves all the way over his hands, bunching up the fabric and squeezing it tight in his fists. 

“Abed...” Jeff says, trying to keep his voice gentle, and trails off, because he doesn’t actually know what to say.

Abed is sitting motionless, except Jeff can hear his breath stuttering as he tries to slow it down, can see him trembling.

“Abed,” Jeff says again. “What happened? Are you okay?” He doesn’t want to pry. He really doesn’t. He just needs to know if his friend is all right. He needs to know that Abed is safe, cared for.

Abed opens his eyes and looks over Jeff’s left shoulder for a while, chewing on his bottom lip, which Jeff doesn’t think he’s ever seen him do before. He looks like he’s thinking. Concentrating. Jeff doesn’t say anything.

Finally, Abed takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He blinks a few times.

“Read the letter,” he says, which is not what Jeff was expecting.

“What?”

“My letter to Troy,” Abed clarifies. “You can read it.”

“Are you sure?” Jeff asks, frowning, because he doesn’t want to invade Troy and Abed’s privacy.

“Yeah,” Abed says.

The papers are still sitting directly in front of him, and he picks them up and turns them over and begins to read.

When he finishes, he sets them down and looks at Abed, who hasn’t moved.

“Thank you,” Jeff says, and hopes Abed can hear the sincerity. “Do you...want to talk about anything? Would you rather I leave?”

“Talking is hard right now,” Abed replies, his strained voice serving as evidence. “But please stay. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jeff says, making himself comfortable in his plastic chair. “Not one bit.” 

Abed grabs a puzzle from a shelf nearby and dumps it out on the table, and they work on it in silence until visiting hours are over.


	7. Day Seven

The next day Abed starts to get his voice back, and with it, some of his agency, and he decides he has to do something, _anything,_ to escape from this nightmare that his life has become. So when his psychiatrist asks him for the seventh time if he’s willing to try medication, daily medication, not just an anxiety pill after he freaks out, Abed says yes, okay, _fine._

It feels kind of anticlimactic after that. The doctor gives him a printout of potential side effects, some of which seem worse than the symptoms they’re trying to treat, but Abed just doesn’t care enough to argue anymore. And that’s it, their session ends, and the doctor is happy, and Abed is tired and wants to go take a nap, but now it’s time to meet with Robin. He brings her the letter he wrote to Troy yesterday, the one he showed to Jeff.

Robin is thrilled. She’s been thrilled a lot over the last few days, because of the letters, but Abed can’t handle her joy today and he snaps at her, tells her she should stop praising him because he hasn’t done anything to deserve it. Yells at her - yells! - that she shouldn’t be proud of him, because there’s no reason to be, and saying the words makes him want to fold up and die, like a bug on the sidewalk, and he doesn’t die but he does fold himself up on the floor, and he expects Robin to get mad, to yell back at him, and she kind of does, but not in the way Abed expects her to.

She doesn’t actually yell, but her voice is fierce and strong as she tells him he doesn’t need to do _anything_ to deserve praise, that that is something he’s worthy of as a human being, and she’s proud of him because he’s made incredible progress, and it’s okay if he disagrees, and she’ll stop telling him if he wants her to, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

And then she talks to him about unconditional love, and he thinks about Jeff, about Troy, about Annie and Britta and Shirley, and he already considers them his family, but putting _family_ together with _unconditional love_ isn’t something he really ever thought about before, and when he tells this to Robin he starts to cry, and he hates the way the hot tears tickle his face, the disgusting feeling of snot running from his nose as he grasps for one of the many boxes of kleenex stashed around the room. He feels gross and messy and ugly, and it’s kind of like his outside matches his inside in that way.

Robin sits right down on the floor next to him and doesn’t leave his side, and she doesn’t look directly into his eyes, and she doesn’t touch him. She acts as a buffer, a buoy, letting him fall apart but also letting him know that he is safe, that this is okay, that she won’t let him crash or drown, _that this is why he’s here._ She passes him tissues and Abed cries until he can’t cry anymore.

At the end of his session he feels empty and watery and unsteady, and Robin walks him all the way back to his room, carrying the weighted blanket for him, and he gets in bed and she lays the blanket on top of him, tells him to rest until it’s time for lunch.

No one has ever tucked Abed in like that before.

* * *

When it’s almost time for visiting hours, Jeff calls Annie and asks if he can tag along with her.

“Of course you can,” Annie replies. “Didn’t you go last night, though?”

“Yeah. I just...we didn’t get a chance to talk much. I want to see how he is.”

“No problem,” says Annie. “You can pick me up.”

When they get to the activity room, they find Abed sitting at a table with a small blonde girl. Each of them holds a bottle of Ensure with a straw sticking out of the top.

“...dogs barking Christmas carols!” the girl exclaims, and dissolves into giggles, and Abed is smiling.

“Hey, Abed!” Annie says as they approach the table.

“Hi Annie. Hi Jeff. This is Emily. We were talking about _Cougar Town._ ”

“Nice to meet you, Emily,” Annie says. “I _love_ that episode.”

“Yes, nice to meet you, Emily,” Jeff echoes. “I’ve never watched a minute of _Cougar Town_ in my life.”

“Jeff thinks he’s too cool for things like _Cougar Town,”_ Abed explains to Emily.

“If you want it to seem cool, stop saying its name,” Jeff says. Abed, Annie, and Emily all roll their eyes.

“I don’t want to interrupt your visit,” Emily says, standing up. “And my mom is gonna be here any minute. It was nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, Emily,” Annie replies, and Jeff nods.

“Thanks for the straw,” Abed says. “You were right.”

“I usually am,” she says with a wink, and walks away from the table.

“Well, she’s nice!” Annie says enthusiastically. Overenthusiastically, in Jeff’s opinion, but he ignores it. “I’m glad you’re making friends in here!”

Abed nods.

“How’s it going today?” Jeff asks, and he doesn’t say, _compared to yesterday,_ but he assumes Abed will pick up on it.

“Better,” Abed replies. “Can’t you tell?”

“Yes. And I’m glad.” Jeff had a hard time leaving yesterday, with Abed as he was, and he’s relieved that things seem to have turned around, that he won’t lay awake again worrying.

“Oh! Before I forget, here you go,” Annie says, holding up an envelope.

Abed doesn’t reach for it, just looks at Annie, and Jeff knows he and Abed are both remembering yesterday, but Annie wasn’t there, she doesn’t know about that, she just sits there confused and it feels like ages until she finally slides the envelope across the table to Abed and he takes it gratefully. Annie glances at Jeff, a confused expression on her face.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs.

“Tell me about Greendale,” Abed says. “I haven’t heard anything in days.”

“Days?” Annie asks. “Haven’t people been visiting you?”

“Yes. But I was in crisis. Chatting about school wasn’t an option.”

“You were in _crisis?_ What happened?”

Abed gazes at Jeff for a moment, something like surprise on his face.

“Did you not tell Annie?”

“Of course I didn’t tell Annie. You didn’t tell me to tell Annie. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you for keeping my secrets,” Abed says. “Also, you have my permission to tell Annie. When you leave, though. I don’t really want to hear about it again. She can read the letter, too. You can pretty much tell Annie anything unless I tell you not to, I think. And Annie, sorry you were out of the loop. It’s been hectic.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Annie says, and she doesn’t seem too upset.

“You probably don’t need to tell Britta and Shirley, though,” Abed adds. “They’ll just worry. And anyway, I’m doing better today.”

“Good,” Jeff says. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Want to do another puzzle?” Abed asks. “We can talk while we work on it this time.”

Annie and Jeff agree, and Abed finds another puzzle, and they work on it together while Jeff and Annie tell Abed the latest about Greendale. 

In the car on the way home, Jeff tells Annie about his visit with Abed yesterday, and the letter, which Annie still has in her email from when she scanned it to Troy yesterday, and they both decide they’ll be better at communicating about Abed, now that they have permission.

* * *

 **_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

 **_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

 **_SUBJ:_ ** _Letter for Abed -- HEY ANNIE, can you print the last part of this on a separate page please? You’ll know it when you see it. YOU’RE THE BEST._

_Dear Abed,_

_It was so, so good to talk to you on the phone yesterday. Sorry it was short and the connection was so crappy. But it was really nice to hear your voice, and I appreciate you taking the call even though you couldn’t talk much._

_And thank you so much for writing me a second letter. Even when things aren’t going so well for you, I still appreciate knowing what’s going on, and not being stuck in the dark. In the dark, all of the worst case scenarios come up and it’s like that’s all I can think about. It’s better just to know._

_I hope you’re feeling better today. I hope you had some nice visits, and I hope you had some good therapy, and I hope you got to talk to Emily, and I hope you’re healing, mentally and physically. Because it was scary to read some of the things that you wrote in that letter, and if it was scary for me to read them I can’t even imagine how scary it must have been for you to write them. And I hope you’re not still feeling that way._

_In case you are still feeling that way, I need to tell you some things. You are not too far gone and you are not unfixable. I promise. I know you, and I love you. And right now you’re just in the middle of some stuff. You aren’t feeling well, but you’re getting better. You’re in a place whose sole purpose is to help you get better. And you don’t get better right away, just by being there. It’s gonna be hard and awful sometimes. That doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It’s just part of the process._

_Can I ask you a question about your last letter? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But when you said, “Usually I always remember it. Usually it’s a conscious decision,” were you talking about hurting yourself? And is that something you do often? I know you hate talking about this stuff. Like I said, you don’t have to answer. I was just curious. I just want to be here for you._

_I love you so much. I miss you so much. After hearing your voice, listening to LeVar talk all day is just kind of lame. And that’s the_ Reading Rainbow _voice I’m talking about. It doesn’t hold a candle to yours._

_I can’t wait for your next letter._

_Oh - I’m hoping Annie follows my instructions and prints the end of this on a separate sheet of paper. Maybe you can put it up on your wall, or keep it next to your bed or something. I printed it a long time ago and I keep it under my pillow. It helps sometimes when I miss you too much._

_Love,_

_Troy_

* * *

_Somewhere out there_ _  
__Beneath the pale moonlight_ _  
__Someone's thinking of me_ _  
__And loving me tonight_

 _Somewhere out there_ _  
__Someone's saying a prayer_ _  
__That we'll find one another_ _  
__In that big somewhere out there_

 _And even though I know how very far apart we are_ _  
__It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star_ _  
__And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby_ _  
__It helps to think we're sleeping underneath that same big sky_

 _Somewhere out there_ _  
__If love can see us through_ _  
__Then we'll be together_  
 _Somewhere out there_ _  
Out where dreams come true_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you need a refresher: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjw_HjgyiPM


	8. Day Eight

_Dear Troy,_

_It’s under my pillow and it’s perfect. I’m actually surprised you associate that song with me and not with the rat, and I’m really glad. Thank you for sending it._

_The last few days have been very up and down. I showed Jeff the last letter I wrote to you, because he came to visit and I couldn’t talk and that’s all I could think of to do, and I think I freaked him out because he came back again yesterday with Annie._

_I’ve done a lot of things to freak Jeff out over the last few weeks, and the rest of the group, too, and it’s terrifying because we’re well past the point where people usually get frustrated and fed up and stop talking to me, except you guys haven’t, and I keep wondering where the breaking point will be, what it will take before I’m too much. Annie told me once that I would never be alone, I would always fit in, but I just feel like she probably didn’t anticipate_ this. _I don’t know. A part of me is surprised every single day when someone shows up to visit me._

_I want to answer the question you asked. I don’t mind that you asked it. It’s hard to talk about, though, and I think it’s because it’s embarrassing, it’s the most embarrassing manifestation of my crazy. It’s worse than seeing us in stop-motion, it’s worse than getting stuck inside my “happy place” in my head, it’s even worse than seeing the lava, because it’s not a quirky adventure and a motivational speech, it’s Jeff finding me bleeding on the floor of the supply closet at school, and I’m realizing as I write this that I never told you this part, I never told you what actually happened._

_I never told you about how when I stopped eating and sleeping, I also stopped knowing how to handle things, I couldn’t get through a day without spacing out or getting overwhelmed, without feeling like I was suffocating. And I kept trying to fix it, and when I figured it out, it wasn’t on purpose, I didn’t mean to, but it worked, and then I kept trying to make it work again._

_And I need you to know that I never did it any place where it could do serious damage, that when I passed out that day that Jeff found me, it was from not eating or sleeping, it wasn’t because I was trying to kill myself or anything, it was high up above my elbow, and I didn’t mean to make them so deep, I was just trying to be able to breathe, but when I woke up I was in the hospital, and Jeff was with me, and my arm was full of stitches._

_I’m forcing myself not to throw this page away and start over. I want to get rid of the ugly embarrassing part and talk about good things instead. But I’m not going to throw it away, because I trust you, and because I’m trying to get better and maybe this will help somehow, to say it, even if it’s just writing it down. To face that shame. I don’t know. Plus it gives me something to bring to therapy._

_I’m going to change the subject now. My session with Robin yesterday wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it felt like we maybe actually got somewhere. Like a movie breakthrough, even, because by the end I was crying on the floor. And I let my psychiatrist convince me to try medication. So that’s a new thing. And I did talk to Emily again. Mostly about_ Cougar Town. 

_I appreciate your support and encouragement so much. Thank you. Thank you for writing to me and for calling me and for loving me. I miss you and love you. So much._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

Britta arrives at visiting hours to find Abed alone at a table glaring at a bottle of Ensure with a straw in it, and he doesn’t even notice her when she pulls out a chair opposite him and sits down. She watches him for a moment before speaking.

“Jeez, what did that bottle ever do to you?” Britta asks, and Abed looks up, a little startled.

“It’s gross,” he says with a shrug, and slides some papers across the table. “For Troy,” he adds, but Britta knows that already, and puts them in her bag.

“So don’t drink it,” Britta says, because Abed's attention is back on the bottle. The closest thing to an Ensure shake that Britta has ever seen him consume is his Special Drink, and she doubts they’re comparable.

“I have to. And I have to drink another one before I go to bed,” he grumbles. “I couldn’t finish my dinner.”

“So they’re forcing it on you?”

“Yeah. I don’t really blame them. I just hate it. Look.” 

He stands up and steps away from the table and now it’s Britta who is startled, because Abed’s hoodie is practically billowing around him and his skinny jeans are baggy. For a second she wonders if dryers ever do the opposite of shrinking clothes, and then she realizes, no, that’s just how much thinner Abed has gotten, and she’s surprised she didn’t notice it before.

“Oh, Abed,” Britta says, and she’s trying to sound caring and sympathetic, but from the look on Abed’s face she’s failing.

“Please don’t get sad,” he says, sounding a little panicked and flustered. “I honestly don’t think I can handle that right now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Britta replies. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m not sad. I just care about you and I’m bad at expressing it.”

“You’re fine,” Abed says. “It’s just a hard day.”

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m asking as your friend,” Britta rushes to clarify.

Abed pauses, and Britta stays quiet while he thinks.

“The last few days have been really bad,” he says softly. “And today it felt like things were getting a little better. And then right before dinner my therapist told me she wants my dad to come in for a family session.”

“Oh my god,” Britta says. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t _that._

“And then I couldn’t eat my dinner, and now I’m stuck with this,” he says, gesturing toward the bottle sitting untouched on the table. “And the promise of more later, and it’s gross even with a straw in it, and I’m just very freaked out and frustrated.”

“Is...the straw supposed to make it less gross?” 

“My friend Emily suggested it. It helps sometimes. Now isn’t one of those times, I guess.”

He stares at the bottle again.

“Do you have access to ice?” Britta asks, inspiration striking.

“What?”

“Ice. Can you get a cup of ice?”

“Why?”

“Pour it over ice in a cup. Drink it with the straw. Maybe it’ll be less gross if it’s really cold. Have you tried that?”

Abed tilts his head and looks at Britta for a minute, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s worth a shot,” he says with a nod. “Wait here.”

Abed disappears out the door and comes back with a styrofoam cup of crushed ice. He jams the straw in and pours the shake into the cup, swishes it around a few times to mix with the ice, and takes a sip.

“Britta, you’re a genius,” Abed says, his face blank.

“It’s good?”

“It’s disgusting. But I can swallow it now, which is what matters. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” Britta says, proud of herself for helping. “Do you want to talk about the family therapy thing?”

“Nope,” Abed replies, and forces down another sip.

* * *

After Britta leaves, Abed adds more ice to his cup and pours the other bottle of Ensure into it. He sips it as he walks around aimlessly, and when he finds some of the other patients watching a movie he decides to join them, and sits next to Emily on the floor. They’re watching _Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed,_ which Abed has actually seen before.

He wants to use the movie to distract himself from thinking about other things. But his mind keeps wandering into dangerous territory, and the movie just isn’t interesting enough to keep his attention. He changes tactics.

First he tries to cast his study group in the movie _(Troy as Shaggy, Jeff as Fred, Britta as Daphne, Annie as Velma, Shirley as...no, this isn’t going to work)_. 

Then he tries to remember how many live-action _Scooby-Doo_ movies have actually been made.

Then he tries to count how many movies Matthew Lillard and Freddie Prinze Jr. have been in together, because it kind of seems like a lot. 

He finishes his drink, which is a relief, and then he can’t think of any more distractions, and he finally gives up and lets his mind wander wherever it wants to go, and where it wants to go is straight to family therapy.

He wasn’t expecting Robin to bring his dad up at all today, and he especially wasn’t expecting her to suggest having him come in for a session. Abed hasn’t seen his dad in months, and neither of them are big phone people, so they mostly email every so often to touch base. He did email his dad to let him know he was in the hospital, providing as few details as possible, and he sent the message immediately before he came here to the inpatient unit, where he doesn’t have internet access, so Abed doesn’t even know if his dad responded.

He told Robin no, absolutely not, and she promised she wouldn’t force him to do anything, but she also said the discussion wasn’t over, and she hoped he would think about it and they could discuss it further tomorrow. Abed wasn’t planning to think about it at all, but now he can’t think about anything else, and every time he does it’s like a punch in the gut, he can physically feel it, and it knocks the wind out of him, takes his breath away.

He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, as if to try to hold himself together, and then he stares back up at the TV screen and tries to remember if Sarah Michelle Gellar and Seth Green were in anything else together besides _Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed_ and _Buffy._


	9. Day Nine

In the morning, Abed feels spacey and weird, like he’s not fully awake, like his head is in the clouds, or maybe the clouds are in his head. He goes through his day in a daze, and the psychiatrist tells him it’s from the medication, and it’s normal, and it’ll go away soon, and Abed doesn’t like it. 

In group therapy he tries to pay attention to what other people are saying but he feels disconnected from everything. He's been here nine days and he hasn't spoken once in group. Robin says he has to attend all of them, but she'll work with him on getting to a point where he can participate. 

When he meets with Robin alone, she asks if he’s thought about what they talked about yesterday. He has, a lot, and he still doesn’t want his dad to come in for a session, and he’s trying to find the right words to explain it to Robin, because he doesn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

And she asks what he means by the wrong impression, and he tells her about how his dad isn’t a monster or anything, that’s not why Abed doesn’t want him to come here, in fact most people like him a lot, because he sells them falafel, and it’s good falafel, and he’s good to his customers. Actually, Abed is worried that _he’s_ the one who’s the monster, because he’s the one who doesn’t want to see his dad even after all his dad has done for him, and it's because they don’t understand each other, because every time he sees his dad he leaves feeling drained and prickly and broken.

Robin asks what all his father _has_ done for him, and Abed talks about paying tuition, about feeding him and putting a roof over his head, about parenting him alone after his mother left, and what a burden that was because of all of Abed's issues, and Robin asks if these are things Abed thinks about often, and Abed says of course he does, his dad reminds him constantly of everything he’s sacrificed for him, and why can’t Abed repay him by acting normal and studying business and helping with the falafel stand? And Robin makes a face that Abed can’t interpret.

She asks Abed what other kinds of things his dad says to him, and he tells her they don’t talk much anymore, because it seems like every time they do it turns into an argument, and his dad yells at him for something he doesn't understand, and Abed tries to respond appropriately and fails, and then his dad asks him why he’s so self-centered, and why can’t he just grow up, and then Abed apologizes, and then his dad tells him how much he loves him and would do anything for him, and then Abed feels overwhelmingly guilty, and then it’s over, and every time it’s exactly the same.

And Robin asks Abed if he thinks it would be helpful for them to have that conversation with her in the room to mediate, and Abed says no, because his dad is different with other people around than he is when it’s just Abed, and also he doesn’t want his dad to see him the way he is now, all anxious and skeletal, because he’ll just make comments about it and Abed doesn’t want to deal with that right now, plus Abed always needs to bring his weighted blanket to his sessions, and his dad would definitely have something to say about that.

Finally, Robin suggests a phone call with Abed’s dad, where they call him from her office and talk, the three of them, and Abed asks if he can have another night to think about it, and Robin says of course, he can even have two, there's no rush. And then Abed asks when he’s getting out of here, and Robin says she doesn’t know, and he’ll want to discuss that with his psychiatrist. He’s too zoned out to even be frustrated, and he thinks that if this is what the medication does, he’s not sure this is a good idea, but when he voices that thought to Robin she says to give it a chance, that it won’t always feel this way, and he begrudgingly decides to trust her, at least for now.

* * *

Shirley visits that evening, and she makes sure to bring a couple of books, just in case Abed needs her to read to him again. When she arrives, though, he looks worlds better than last time, and she sends up a silent prayer of thanks.

“Hi, Abed, honey,” she says with a smile. “How are you?”

“I’m all right,” he says. “Although, full disclosure, I’m a little bit spacey today.”

“That’s okay. I’m just glad to see you’re feeling a little better.”

“Thanks for reading to me last time. It helps when I’m feeling that way. It helps a lot, actually. It reminds me of when Troy used to--”

Abed stops abruptly.

“You can talk about Troy, honey,” Shirley assures him. “I know you miss him a whole lot. And I’m glad the reading helps. It helps me, too. For different reasons.”

“Because you’re praying.”

“Because I’m praying,” she agrees.

“You really don’t mind if I talk about Troy? It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” she says. “Being part of our study group for the last few years has challenged a lot of my beliefs. And led them to...evolve. And I know how happy you make each other. In fact, we all kind of…” She trails off, wondering if she's put her foot in her mouth.

“...suspected already, I know,” Abed finishes, with a wistful smile, and Shirley is relieved.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Shirley picks up her purse and starts rummaging through it. “Here,” she says, and hands Abed an envelope.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I wouldn’t have forgotten. And thank you for bringing it.”

“Is he doing okay, out there on the boat?” she asks, because she does miss Troy. It’s not the same without him, wasn’t the same without him even before Abed came to the hospital.

“I think so,” Abed replies. “Although, to be honest, lately we’ve mostly been talking about me.” Shirley hears a trace of guilt in his voice.

“Sweetie, that’s normal,” she says, and reaches out to take Abed’s hand. He flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re the one with big things happening,” she continues. “Of course you’re mostly talking about you. Don’t feel bad about that.”

Abed doesn’t say anything, but he gives Shirley’s hand a gentle squeeze, and that’s enough. He stares at the envelope for a while.

“Troy used to play video games," he says carefully. "When I was freaked out and couldn’t talk. I would lay down on the bed or on the couch and he would sit next to me, and I would listen to him playing video games. Sometimes he would talk, too, but he never expected me to talk, and we’d stay that way for hours. That was Troy’s version of you reading to me.”

He glances up at Shirley but he looks like he has more to say, so she just nods encouragingly and smiles.

“And when it got really bad, like when I would scream, especially, he would lay on top of me. Not in a sexual way, just in a Troy-and-Abed kind of way. Because the pressure helps. I have a heavy blanket here that does the same thing. But I never even had to ask Troy to lay on me, he just knew. I don’t know how he knew, but it was exactly what I needed.”

Abed’s voice is hoarse, like he’s full of emotion and doesn’t know what to do with it, like it’s caught in his throat.

“How about if I read for a little while,” Shirley suggests gently.

“Thank you,” Abed replies, and squeezes her hand again.

* * *

**_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

 **_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

 **_SUBJ:_ ** _Letter for Abed -- THANK YOU ANNIE!! Love you!!_

_Dear Abed,_

_I have so much to say, but I have to say this first, because it’s so important:_ I will never, ever, ever get frustrated and fed up and stop talking to you. _Never. You can count on that._

_Okay. So, wow, that was an intense letter, and also very important, and I’m so glad you wrote it and sent it to me instead of throwing it away. Thank you for finally telling me what happened. I wasn’t going to ask, but I am really glad to know. Does that make sense? Anyway, I feel like I have a more complete picture of things and that is actually helpful because now I’m not just imagining worst case scenarios._

_I believe you, that you weren’t trying to kill yourself, and I appreciate you being so honest about all of this because I know it’s scary and painful and terrible and embarrassing, but that’s why I think it’s important to write it, to share it, to get it out of you, so that it’s not just destroying you from the inside out. And so that someone can listen and tell you, it’s okay, I love you, I care about you, and that’s what I’m trying to do now._

_I hate that I’m so far away, that I’m not there to hug you and hold you and lay on you and keep you safe. To touch you when you want to be touched and not touch you when you don’t. To see you with my own eyes, and know for sure that you’re okay. To kiss you. To do some other things I won’t mention because your roommate is going to print this letter and if she accidentally reads it I’ll never be able to look her in the eye ever again, and I’m not even writing her name because it would just draw her attention._

_I’m glad you had a breakthrough with Robin. That’s kind of the point of you being there, right? All the therapy? Which means you’re making progress, which is awesome, and don’t you dare convince yourself otherwise. Also, I’m glad you’re trying the medication. Have you started it already? How is it so far? Do you feel any different?_

_Nothing is new here. Literally nothing. There’s an ocean. It’s big and blue. My skin is covered in salt 100% of the time. I can see why Pierce cheated when he did this, to be honest. It’s not that the places we visit aren’t interesting. I’m just lonely. And I miss you, and the study group, and Greendale._

_I can’t wait for your next letter. Right now there's nothing I look forward to more._

_I love you, Abed. So, so much._

_Love,_

_Troy_


	10. Day Ten

_Dear Troy,_

_I hate that you’re lonely, but I’m still glad you’re on your adventure, even if it’s also the worst because I just want to be with you. I still think your character is growing, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. Mine is, too. This time is important for both of us._

_The medication isn’t great so far. I feel spaced out and weird all the time. Everyone keeps saying it will get better, and I hope they’re right. I don’t know how people do this while also going to school and work and everything. I feel like I’m in one of those commercials for allergy medicine, where there’s a screen in front of everything and it’s all dark and hazy, and then they pull it off at the end and everything is clear and bright, only I haven’t gotten to the end yet._

_Robin wants to have a session with me and my dad. Well, that’s what she wanted initially, and I told her it would be a bad idea, so now she thinks we should do a phone call, and I still don’t know if I want to do that. And I don’t know how much of that is me knowing my dad and knowing it won’t fix anything, and how much of it is just me being scared. I can’t tell if I’m making an educated decision or just throwing a tantrum. I don’t know if my feelings about this are valid. I haven’t given her an answer yet._

_Things are still up and down. Every time things start to look up, or something good happens, I think, this is it, the worst of it is over, I’m going to get back to my regular life now. And I think, maybe things weren’t even that bad, maybe I was overreacting. And it’s all going to be okay now._

_And then it’s noon and I’m trying to eat lunch and suddenly it’s too bright, and the sounds are too much, and I can hear the fluorescent light buzzing, and the smells are overwhelming, and the best I can do is leave the table and try to make it to my room before I start screaming. And while it’s not as humiliating as it is at Greendale, it’s still embarrassing and exhausting and terrible, and when it’s over I feel like I’m back at square one, and it’s so discouraging. I need recovery to be linear, but it’s not, it’s a toddler scribbling on graph paper, and Troy, it’s just not fucking fair._

_Sorry to get so negative. You may be able to discern that I’m writing this immediately following the lunch fiasco, so it’s still a little raw. Objectively, things really are getting better, I think. I’m finishing more meals, and drinking meal replacement shakes when I can’t. Britta was really helpful with getting me to do that, actually._

_All of those things you said you want to do but can’t because you aren’t here -- I want all of them too, just so you know. I miss everything about you. Last night I told Shirley about the ways you used to take care of me, and how you could read my mind, and somehow you always knew exactly what I needed. How on earth did it take me so long to realize I was in love with you?_

_Your letters are keeping me going, too. Sometimes when I feel defeated I think about what I’m going to write in my next letter to you, and sometimes that’s enough to help me make the hard decisions, because I want to make you proud. And sometimes I have to write about the bad stuff, and I know you love me anyway, and that’s crazy and amazing._

_I love you._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

“You’ve got to tell me what happened when Britta came to visit you,” Jeff says, as Abed slides his letter to Troy across the table to him. “Because she’s been, like, glowing ever since. You didn’t let her therapize you again, did you?”

Jeff has been looking forward to this visit. He got used to spending most of his time with Abed during those first 72 hours, and honestly, it’s weird only seeing him every few days now.

“Never,” Abed replies, eyes wide. “And I’m surprised she didn’t just tell you. It’s not a big deal.”

“I think her psych class just finished a unit on confidentiality.” Jeff knows it, in fact, because she hasn’t stopped talking about it.

“That makes more sense. I couldn’t drink my Ensure shakes, because they’re disgusting, and she suggested putting it in a cup over ice, and it worked. I can drink them now.”

“That is...not nearly as interesting as I expected.”

“I’m glad it made Britta happy,” Abed says, shrugging. “She deserves to have a win every now and then.”

“Yeah, she really does,” Jeff replies. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“I won’t, but you should. Sometimes you think someone knows you care about them, but they actually don’t understand how much.”

“You wouldn’t be speaking from experience, would you?”

“I always knew we were friends,” Abed says. “But I don’t think I realized the depth of our friendship until I woke up in the hospital with you next to me. And you stayed.”

“Of course I stayed, Abed. What--”

“No one’s ever stayed before,” Abed interrupts abruptly, staring down at his hands.

Jeff’s heart breaks a little at this. He’s come to value his friendship with Abed so much, he almost can’t remember how he felt the first time they met, when Abed was his ticket to get information about a hot girl, when he was just the weird kid with all the TV references. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jeff says firmly. 

The corner of Abed’s mouth turns up in a half-smile.

“That’s what Troy said, too,” he says.

“None of us are going anywhere,” Jeff says. “We love you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do,” Abed says. “But we were talking about Britta, and we love her too, and we should tell her more. Maybe we should all tell each other more.”

“I think I can live with that,” Jeff says.

* * *

When Jeff leaves, Abed pours his nightly shake into a cup of ice and walks back to the activity room, not sure what he wants to do. He sees Emily curled up on the couch in the corner, and he thinks she looks sad, and then she sees him and motions for him to come over.

Abed sits down next to her and she leans into him and he freezes for a second, unsure if he can handle touching right now. He can, it turns out, and he relaxes.

“Are you okay?” he asks, after they’ve been sitting for a little while.

“I don’t know,” Emily says. “But I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

“No problem,” he says, and they continue to sit in silence. 

Abed thinks it’s nice being in a place where you can say you’re not okay and not have to elaborate, and you can sit and be quiet and no one thinks you’re weird. He realizes he actually might miss this when he finally gets to go home. The way it’s easy to just _be._ The way it’s okay not to be okay sometimes. The way things move slowly, at a pace he can follow.

After a while he realizes Emily is crying. She’s resting against his left arm, so with his right arm he reaches behind him and grabs a box of tissues, finally understanding why they have them sitting out everywhere in this place. He sets it on the couch between them and Emily takes one, wipes her eyes.

Abed thinks it’s been awhile since he’s been this kind of friend, the kind who comforts and provides support and tissues. It feels like he’s been the broken one forever and he appreciates this change of role, and thinks maybe he understands now why his friends don’t hate him, why they don’t mind coming to see him, talking to him. He thinks maybe he’s learning what friendship really is, which seems a little ironic since physically he’s more separate from his friends than he’s ever been.

Emily’s breath starts to speed up, and this is something Abed recognizes. He is intimately familiar with the sound of a panic attack. He’s not sure what to do for Emily, though, who is still leaning against him, and now she’s crying again, too. He glances around and catches sight of a book on the table, a birdwatcher’s guide, and he’s distracted for a second while he wonders why on earth there’s a birdwatcher’s guide in a mental hospital.

Then he whispers, “Emily?”

Emily doesn’t say anything, but she sniffs and goes quiet.

“Do you want me to read to you?” he asks softly.

She’s still breathing pretty quickly, but the tears seem to have subsided for a moment.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and Abed picks up the book and starts reading from page one.

It takes a while, but as Abed reads, Emily’s breathing eventually begins to slow down, to even out. She sits perfectly still against Abed, and he just keeps reading, and eventually his voice grows hoarse and he starts to get sleepy. He thinks Emily must notice, because she finally sits up.

“Your friend reads to you, doesn’t she?” she asks Abed. “I’ve seen her.”

“It helps me,” he says.

“Me, too,” Emily replies. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Emily.”

“Goodnight.”


	11. Day Eleven

Abed shows Robin a copy of his last letter to Troy, even though there’s not a real confession in it, to try to explain how he feels about the thing with his dad. The first thing she does is get a package of post-it notes and a sharpie from her desk. She writes something down, then peels off the post-it and hands it to Abed, and it says, “YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID” in all capital letters. She tells him to hang onto it, and if he loses it, to let her know and she’ll write another one. She tells him to look at it often. 

Abed holds the post-it between his fingers, avoiding the sticky edge, and he stares at it for awhile before telling Robin that his dad doesn’t believe Abed’s feelings are valid, so he’s not sure how a phone session will go, and Robin says that’s exactly why they should do it, to clarify some things and see if Abed and his dad can’t try to understand each other a little better. And Abed isn’t sure, but he agrees anyway, mostly because he’s foggy and tired and tired of having this conversation. Robin says she’ll call his dad later today and make the appointment, and she’ll let Abed know when it will be.

Robin asks Abed what he meant when he wrote that can’t tell if he’s just throwing a tantrum, and Abed explains that sometimes when things don’t go how he expects them to, he gets upset, and his parents always called them tantrums, and somehow he never managed to grow out of them. Robin asks him if he knows the difference between a tantrum and a meltdown.

“They’re the same picture,” Abed says, because it reminds him of that scene from _The Office_ when they’re supposed to find the differences between two pictures, only there aren’t any, and Robin waits for him to explain the reference, and he does. This happens to him a lot, only Robin is the only one who seems not to get annoyed by it, who understands that he can communicate through TV references and still understand that life and TV are different, and he thinks that’s one reason he’s able to talk to Robin about difficult things.

She tells him that they aren’t the same at all, explains that tantrums are driven by a desire to manipulate and meltdowns are a reaction to feeling overwhelmed, and Abed never meant to manipulate anyone but he doesn’t think his parents ever understood that. He feels like Robin is telling him his meltdowns aren’t his fault, and she says that’s exactly what she’s saying, and he doesn’t understand, because no one else screams in the middle of lunch because the lights are too loud, and Robin tells him that’s not his fault either, and he thinks they’re headed towards a _Good Will Hunting_ moment, but Robin just hands him another post-it that says “MELTDOWNS AREN’T YOUR FAULT” and tells him to hold onto that one, too.

Robin tells Abed she’s proud of him for agreeing to the phone call, and Abed shrugs, and when he walks back to his room he feels like Linus, trailing his special blanket behind him.

* * *

“How are you?” Annie asks when she arrives at visiting hours. She thinks Abed looks better than the last time she was here, which is reassuring. She hands him an envelope.

“Thanks,” Abed replies. “I’m all right. I talked in group therapy for the first time today.”

“Abed! That’s amazing!” Annie exclaims, and it is. She remembers group therapy, and how long it took her to speak up, too. She’s been wondering how it would go for Abed, because it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that would be in any way easy for him.

“It kind of is,” he says. “I usually sit in the corner but today I sat between my friend Emily and my roommate Sam. And everyone was going around the room sharing and then it was my turn and I kind of panicked, and then I realized that I had friends on both sides of me, and I focused on Robin instead of the rest of the people in the room, and it made it easier to talk.”

“That’s fantastic,” Annie says, and Abed is all lit up, and she hasn’t seen him this talkative in a while, so she just kind of sits back and enjoys it.

“It’s not that I don’t like any of the other people in the group,” Abed continues. “We eat together and watch movies and I always listen to them when they share. But there’s like 15 of them, and it just feels like so many people, and their faces all kind of blend together and it’s stressful. Emily and Sam are the only ones I really hang out with.”

“That’s okay,” Annie says. “You don’t have to get to know everyone if it’s too much. Just focus on manageable pieces, you know? You’re doing a great job.”

“Yeah,” Abed replies. “I feel like you’re my personal cheerleader.”

“I love being your personal cheerleader,” Annie says, delighted. “Want me to make pompoms? I bet I can find something on Pinterest…”

“No pompoms, please,” Abed says. “At least not until I get home.”

“Deal,” Annie replies. “So, what else is new?”

“We’re doing a phone call therapy appointment with my dad,” Abed says.

“Oh my gosh! When?”

“I don’t know yet. My therapist is going to set it up. I don’t really have high hopes that it will be productive, but I guess we’ll find out. If he even agrees to do it.”

“My mom wouldn’t do family therapy when I was in rehab,” Annie says, remembering how upset she was about that. Still is, actually. “I wished she would.”

“I’ll try my best to get something out of it, then, in honor of you,” Abed says, and Annie glows.

“I miss you,” she says. “It’s quiet without you there.”

“Are you still just putting in random movies without watching them?” Abed asks suspiciously.

“No!” Annie exclaims, and Abed doesn’t react. “Okay, fine, I’m putting random TV shows on Netflix. Happy?”

“What shows?”

“Abed.”

“Annie. How can you not know?”

“Because I just open Netflix and click play and go about my business!”

Abed shakes his head and glares at Annie.

“I really miss you,” he finally says, and stands up from his chair and walks towards Annie. She’s confused for a minute, but he waits for her to stand up, too, and then he wraps his arms around her in a hug, and Annie is over the moon.

* * *

**_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

**_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

**_SUBJ:_ ** _Letter for Abed -- Annie rocks!!!_

_Dear Abed,_

_The end of your last letter made me cry. In a good way, obviously. I just really love you and the idea that you want to make me proud is overwhelming. Again, in a good way. I hope you know I want to make you proud, too. And I love you no matter what._

_Have you figured out if you’re going to have a phone call with your dad? I don’t know what I would do in your shoes. I guess I don’t know your dad that well, though. I hope that whatever you decide to do, it works out. Keep me posted, okay? And I hope you start to feel better from the medication soon. How long do you have to try it until they know if it’s working?_

_I know you want to go back to your regular life. But I kind of feel like things have changed a lot, and maybe what you’re going back to instead is, like, your new life? Because of your character growth arc. Your character is different now. With me leaving and us getting together and you being in the hospital, those are all things that affect you kind of a lot, and that’s not just going to disappear. You’re kind of becoming a new character, and so am I, and we’ll be better for it. You told me that, and I think you were right._

_I wish I were there to lay on you and talk to you and play video games next to you. And I hope you know that having a meltdown doesn’t just get rid of all the progress you’ve made. It doesn’t send you back to square one. And it’s the same when you get out of there. I’m guessing they can’t cure your meltdowns completely and that’s okay. Because you’ll get through it, and I’ll be there to help you._

_I’ve been trying to put more of my energy into boat stuff and exploring stuff instead of moping around all the time. I’m getting better at tying knots, and I’m trying to remember to take pictures of things when we go ashore, so that I can show them to you when I see you again. I think I spent the beginning of this trip just missing you, and I still miss you, but now I’m trying to focus on my own character growth arc, too. You’re working so hard at yours. I want to work hard at mine, too._

_I still really, really, really miss you. I wish you could have been the one to take this trip with me, but knowing Pierce, he probably specifically put in the contract that we couldn’t do that. He probably thought it would be too gay. He probably was right, actually…_

_I love you so much. I write that all the time, and it never feels like enough. But I guess it’s the best I can do for now. When we see each other again, I promise to find more ways to show you._

_Love,_

_Troy_


	12. Day Twelve

In the morning, after breakfast, Abed goes for a walk with his roommate Sam. Abed has discovered that exercise here is a unique experience, because the whole psych unit consists of one single hallway, so the only real option is to walk down the hall and back, over and over. Someone tells him that 15 times back and forth counts as a mile, but the first time Robin sees Abed go for a walk she takes him aside and makes him promise he won’t get carried away, because he doesn’t really have excess calories to burn, and Abed figures that’s fair. He and Sam walk slowly, partly to appease Robin and partly because neither of them are wearing shoes, because they aren’t allowed to have their shoelaces here. Luckily, hospital socks are nice and grippy on the bottom. 

They aren’t the only one with this idea. There are a few other people, alone or in pairs, spaced at intervals along the hallway doing the same thing. Everyone seems to be restless today, and Abed thinks maybe it’s because the weather is beautiful, even though they’re indoors. They’re allowed to go outside, but only into a little caged area with a concrete picnic table and some planters full of dead lavender, and the view isn’t even good.

They walk by a therapy room and almost get trampled by a guy who exits in a huff, storming off to his room, and a patient tech stands up and follows calmly at a distance. When Abed first got here, he was surprised by that -- how people would have emotional outbursts and it didn’t phase the staff one bit. He realized pretty quickly -- as soon as he had his own emotional outburst -- that it’s one of the best things about being here. His episodes are met with care and compassion and understanding and space, and there’s no need for guilt or frustration or justification or apologies. 

They pass some meeting rooms, the laundry room, and the nurse’s station. In the activity room, some people are coloring and chatting, and there’s an old man reading the newspaper. In the TV room a couple of girls are watching cartoons and three guys are playing cards in the corner. Robin is there, arranging all of the chairs in a circle, getting ready for group therapy.

“Do you remember what today’s group is about?” Sam asks. 

“No,” Abed says. “She always tells us and I never remember.”

“Same,” says Sam. “Think you’ll talk today?”

“Probably,” Abed sighs. “I’ve set a precedent.”

“Admit it. Participating made group better yesterday.” They’re walking side-by-side, but Abed can see that Sam is grinning. 

“I think I got more out of it. A lot more out of it,” Abed admits.

“Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?” 

Sam has been trying to gently nudge Abed to participate in group therapy for the last week or so, and Abed was kind of shocked when he realized Sam’s tactics had actually worked.

“Okay,” Abed concedes. “You’re right. Group therapy is helpful.”

* * *

_Dear Troy,_

_I have three bits of news._

_One, Robin has set up my phone appointment with my dad for the day after tomorrow. I don't know what to expect, so I'm just trying not to think about it. I'll let you know how it goes._

_Two, I've finally started talking in group therapy. And here's the thing: it's really, really good. I've been attending and listening for almost two weeks now and I've learned a lot of important things. But actually being part of the conversation makes a huge difference, and I didn't really expect that. I also feel like it helped me to get to know some of the other people here who I'd never talked to. Mostly I just hang out with Sam and Emily, if I feel like being around other people._

_Three, they had me meet with an occupational therapist today. She’s the one who gave me the weighted blanket that I’m using here, and this time she gave me some putty to squeeze and play with when I feel anxious, and we did some yoga poses. Annie and I joked about me doing yoga once, but I never actually tried it before. It’s surprisingly pleasant. I think I want to take a class when I get out of here. Anyway, she said she’d meet with me again and try other stuff that might help when I’m feeling bad, and I’m actually looking forward to it._

_You made a good point about going back to my new life instead of my "real" life. I guess it wouldn't be a real character growth arc if I just ended up back in the same place. No movie character ever went to a mental hospital and came out unchanged. No one would watch that movie. Everyone is going to want to watch our movie, Troy._

_Robin's trying to convince me that my meltdowns aren't my fault. So far she is not succeeding. I feel like saying they're not my fault is a cop out, it's me making excuses for my bad behavior, and that's not fair, especially because they cause real problems for people. No one should have to take care of me when I'm like that, and yet all of you guys have. And it's not fair._

_I can't wait to see your pictures. No -- I can't wait for you to show me your pictures. I can't wait to look at them with you, whenever that may be. I want to snuggle with you. Hold your hand. I miss you touching me, which is insane because I mostly hate being touched. But you knew that already._

_I still don’t know when I’m getting out of here. The doctor never gives me a straight answer when I ask. I can’t really blame him, because I actually don’t feel like I’m ready to leave yet. I finally feel like I’m making progress, which is really cool. But I can also tell I’m not where I need to be. It’s kind of a crazy feeling, since a month ago I would have argued that nothing was wrong, and at that time literally everything was wrong. I guess what I’m saying is that maybe I’m seeing my character growing in real time._

_Troy, I think this is the most positive letter I’ve written you so far. It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?_

_I love you,_

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

Britta and Jeff both come to visit Abed, and when they arrive he is waiting at a table with an Ensure shake and a cup of ice with a straw in front of him, and he’s “set the table” with drinks for Britta and Jeff, as well. Jeff thinks it’s kind of adorable.

“Hey, guys,” Abed says. “One of those is cranberry juice and one is decaf coffee. I don’t think anyone likes either of those things, so you can choose which one you hate less, I guess. Or I can get you water.”

“I like cranberry juice, actually,” says Britta.

“Of course you do,” Jeff shoots back, and rolls his eyes. “I’ll drink the decaf.”

They sit down at the table, and Abed slides Britta his letter to Troy, which she puts in her purse.

“How’s that working out for you?” Britta says, pointing to Abed’s drink.

“You’re a lifesaver, Britta,” Abed says, pouring the shake over the ice. “And my friend Emily says to tell you she agrees.”

Britta’s face breaks into a huge smile, and it’s contagious, because Jeff can feel himself start to grin and even Abed smiles.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Jeff asks.

“I just finished writing to Troy, and I realized it was the most positive thing I’ve written since I’ve been here, and I thought it would be nice to make this feel a little more like friends hanging out in a normal setting. One where you aren’t locked in and you can have drawstrings.”

“Drawstrings?” Britta says.

“If you ask Annie,” Abed says, “you’ll find that she has a collection of all of the strings she had to remove from my hoodies before she could bring them here. Otherwise they wouldn’t let me have them. I don’t know why she saved them, but apparently she has something in mind.” He shrugs.

“Well, this is really nice,” Jeff says, “and I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Not all the way better,” Abed clarifies. “I still don’t know when I’m leaving. But it’s getting better. I’m getting better.”

“You look better than you’ve looked since Troy left, to be honest,” Britta says, and Jeff nods in agreement. 

“That’s fair,” Abed says. “I’m sleeping now. And eating more.”

“Abed,” Jeff says, suddenly serious, because he’s been wanting to say this for a long time, but wanted to wait until Abed was a little stronger.

“Yeah, Jeff?”

“I’m really, really sorry we didn’t notice.” He looks down at the table and taps his fingers on the styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands.

“Me too,” Britta adds. “I don’t know how we missed it. We should have been paying better attention.”

“But you did notice,” Abed says, sounding surprised. “You didn’t miss it. Right before I ran out of the study room that morning, you had gathered everyone to ask if I was okay. I remember.”

“We should have noticed sooner,” Jeff and Britta say at the same time, and then look at each other, startled.

“You guys aren’t having sex again, are you?” Abed asks suspiciously.

“What? No!” says Britta, and Jeff shakes his head violently.

“Okay. Just checking. Since apparently you can read each other’s minds.” He shrugs. “Anyway, it’s not like I was walking around with a sign on my back that said _I’m in trouble.”_

“But you’re our _friend,”_ Britta says. “We care about you.”

“I also wasn’t flaunting it,” Abed says. “I probably passed out that morning because I had used up all my energy trying to look like I was fine. I guess you can only do that for so long.”

“Abed,” says Jeff in a firm but gentle voice. “Tell us, okay? If you’re ever in trouble again. Reach out to one of us.”

“I will try,” Abed says. “That’s the best I can do. But I will try. I promise.”

“Cheers to that,” says Britta, lifting her cranberry juice, and Jeff and Abed follow suit, and for a moment they’re just regular friends in a regular place, toasting the future.


	13. Day Thirteen

The first thing Robin did when Abed got to his session with her yesterday was to ask if he still had the post-its she gave him, and today she asks him again. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two carefully-folded yellow squares. She asks if he’s been looking at them, and he says yes, because he has. Several times during the last couple of days he curled up on the floor in a corner of the hallway, or his room, or the TV room, and pulled them out of his pocket, gently unfolded them, and then read them over and over while he traced his finger along the words, as if trying to absorb their meaning through touch as well as sight. He wants so badly to believe them. 

_YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID._

_MELTDOWNS AREN’T YOUR FAULT._

Robin’s handwriting is bold and blocky, and he wonders how often she does this for her other patients, if all of the pockets in this unit are brimming with little paper reminders. He wonders how many post-its she goes through, how long she’s been doing this. He wonders if her sharpie strokes have ever lied, if she’s ever been wrong. 

It’s only in the last few years he’s even begun to learn to trust people, and now here is this woman who isn’t afraid to call him out or challenge him, and she’s giving him written reminders of things he still doesn’t understand, and yet somehow she’s completely won him over. He could have easily pretended to lose those post-its, or forgotten to look at them, only he didn’t. A few different times this morning he found himself reaching into his pocket without even meaning to, pulling the notes out, reading them, folding them back up.

Robin asks him what he’s thinking about, and he realizes he’s been quiet for a little while, and then he tells her he’s trying, he really is, but he feels like he’s tricking himself into believing the words, that he’s training himself to say yes, okay, I understand, except he doesn’t actually, not at all. He doesn’t know how to trust himself enough to believe that his feelings are valid. He doesn’t know how to trust that he’s not being manipulative when in crisis.

She asks him who he does trust, if not himself, and he doesn’t even have to think before he tells her, _Jeff and Britta and Annie and Shirley and Troy._ And she tells him that when he gets out of here, or even at visiting hours, to show them the post-its, to ask his friends to read them aloud to him. To hear the words coming from voices that he trusts, and to see if that helps. Abed says he will.

Later that morning Abed sees his psychiatrist, who tells him that he thinks Abed will be ready to go home soon, probably in the next four or five days, and it’s the first time Abed has felt elated and terrified in equal proportions at the exact same time.

* * *

When Shirley gets to the hospital, she finds Abed waiting for her at a table, and he’s grinning, and it’s so unexpected that it startles her. She takes a seat and smiles back, and passes him an envelope.

“You look happy, Abed,” she says, like a question.

“I get to go home soon,” he replies. “Just a few more days. I don’t know how many yet.”

“That’s wonderful!” she exclaims. Abed has been here almost two weeks and it feels like forever.

“Can you tell everyone else? Since probably someone will have to plan to take me home, and I want them to have some warning.”

“Of course, honey.”

“Also I’m wondering if you can do me a favor and maybe it’s silly but I’m asking you now before I chicken out,” Abed says very quickly, so quickly it takes Shirley a second to understand.

“Sure, sweetie,” she says cautiously. “What is it?”

He pulls two squares out of his pocket, and when he starts to unfold one she realizes they are post-it notes. He smooths both of them out and she can see words written on them. He hands them to her.

“I’m supposed to get someone I trust to read these aloud to me,” he says. “For therapy.”

Shirley is floored.

“You...trust me?” she asks. “I mean…”

“I trust you,” he says earnestly.

Shirley clears her throat, sniffs, and picks up the post-its.

“Abed,” she says, and looks up at him, and he’s looking over her shoulder, which she knows is his version of eye contact. “Your feelings are valid. And your meltdowns aren’t your fault. And...those things are true, sweetie. I would tell you those things even if I wasn’t reading off a post-it note. I didn’t realize you needed to hear them, and I’m sorry for that.”

Abed draws a sharp breath and his eyes are red and watery and he just sits there for a while, perfectly still, breathing slowly and staring straight ahead. Shirley sits quietly with him, waiting while he composes himself. She wants to tell him it’s okay to cry, but it looks like he has control of things.

Finally he swallows and exhales deeply.

“Thank you,” he says, and his voice is hoarse, and she passes the post-its back to him, and he folds them up, carefully puts them back into his pocket.

Shirley is remembering that day in anthropology, after the fiasco with Abed’s blasphemous movie.

“Abed, you humble me,” she says.

A smile breaks out on his face, and she knows he remembers.

“You humble me, too.”

* * *

**_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

**_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

**_SUBJ:_ ** _Letter for Abed -- Thank you Annie!!!!_

_Dear Abed,_

_I’m going to hit your points one at a time._

_First - I hope the appointment goes well and your dad is cooperative and you guys are able to get something out of it! I’m sure you’re not looking forward to it, and that’s fair. The good news is, you’re going to have someone there who’s on your side. And if things get bad enough, you can just hang up, right? And deal with the fallout later? Or never? (That’s not healthy, don’t do that.) I’ll be thinking of you. Do wishes come true if you throw pennies in the ocean? Or is that just littering? Or wasting money? I should ask LeVar if he knows._

_Second - THAT IS AWESOME NEWS, BUDDY! I’m so proud of you!!!!!!!!! Your character just grew like 10 levels I bet. (Do character growth arcs have levels? And if not, can ours have them anyway?) I’m so glad you have some friends there, and I’m glad you’re benefiting from the therapy and everything. Like, Abed, I can’t even tell you how happy this makes me. Knowing that you were able to do that makes me think maybe I’ll be able to actually finish this boat trip. Like, I want to prove that I can do difficult things too, because I’m inspired by you. You can’t see, but I’m basically jumping up and down right now._

_Third - So is occupational therapy basically, like, toys and PE? Because that sounds super fun. Are you going to get your own heavy blanket when you get home? You definitely should. Also, I’ve never tried yoga but it looks kind of hard but also kind of cool? So you can learn and then once I get home you can teach me and we can do it together? Isn’t it, like, really good for you?_

_Abed, your meltdowns are 100% not your fault, and I didn’t realize you didn’t know that until I read your letter. I know you don’t like having them, and you don’t do them on purpose. We all know that, the whole group, and none of us have ever thought of them as “bad behavior.” Plus aren’t they kind of more like a reaction than a behavior? I’m just saying, I know you, and I know that you wouldn’t put yourself through that on purpose, and I hope you believe me, and I wish I had known you felt that way before because I would have been telling you all this time. I would do the_ Good Will Hunting _scene! For you!_

_We’re going into our sixth season soon, right? Just like you always said. And when I get home - that will be the movie. And it will be an amazing movie._

_I hope you get to go home soon. Your last letter definitely was the most positive one so far, which means you’re definitely getting better, which means you’re on your way for sure. Keep me posted, okay?_

_I miss you, and I love you, and I can’t wait for your next letter, and keep being awesome and amazing (I know you will)!_

_Love,_

_Troy_


	14. Day Fourteen

The first thing Abed’s dad does when Robin begins the phone call is demand to know what is going on and why Abed is there in the first place, because apparently Robin didn’t give him that information when she called him to set up the appointment. Abed can’t make his voice say anything, he feels like he’s choking, and Robin throws therapy platitudes at his dad until he gives up demanding details. 

When she asks about Abed’s childhood, his dad gets fixated on Abed’s mother leaving him and Robin has a hard time redirecting him. He does say something about getting a diagnosis for Abed when he was a kid, and Robin asks what the diagnosis was, but Abed’s dad doesn’t remember, because Abed’s mom was the one who handled all of that.

Robin gives Abed a look that he recognizes, one that says _we can test you if you want,_ and he shakes his head violently. So much has already changed, he doesn’t think he could handle one more thing. And anyway, they’re teaching him to cope with his issues, so what does it matter what’s causing them? He thinks maybe it’s something he’ll look into in the future, if it seems like it would be helpful. For now, he just wants to get through this experience.

The topic of Abed’s meltdowns comes up, and Abed’s dad mentions that Abed can act spoiled, and he gets upset when he doesn’t get what he wants, and he doesn’t know where Abed got that from or why he’s that way. Robin gives him speech similar to the one she gave to Abed when she gave him the post-it, and Abed kind of tunes it out, and when he starts paying attention again his dad is agreeing with everything Robin says and apologizing profusely and Abed recognizes his tone of voice as the one he uses when customers in his restaurant complain that their order was wrong, and he knows the order was perfect, and he’s just trying to get them out of his hair. 

The phone call ends pretty quickly after that, presumably because Robin realizes they’re not getting anywhere. Abed barely participates at all, and when Robin hangs up, she looks at him and he settles into his chair. She asks how he feels, and he says disappointed. She asks who he’s disappointed in, and he says himself, and also maybe his dad, but if Abed had been able to talk more, this wouldn’t have been such a waste of time.

Robin tells him flat out that he’s wrong, and he’s a little startled. She tells him she has a better idea of what Abed’s dad is like, and that will help her when she and Abed are talking about him, and then she tells him that she can tell he wasn’t taking in a word that she was saying, that he is so convinced in his own view, he probably won’t change, and Abed knows then that she read the conversation correctly, and he knows she’s right, because his dad has never sincerely admitted fault or apologized in his life, and he definitely doesn’t change, and probably never will.

He says he’s still sorry that they wasted a session, and Robin makes it clear that she doesn’t believe the session was wasted, that just because Abed's dad won't change doesn't mean Abed can't learn how to set boundaries with him, and he tries to believe her, but mostly what he’s feeling is just relief that it’s over, that he never has to do this again. 

When he meets with his psychiatrist later, he asks how Abed would feel about going home on Saturday, and today is Wednesday, and Abed says yes, that would be fantastic, and tries to ignore the pit of nerves in his stomach that he’s suddenly very aware of.

* * *

_Dear Troy,_

_I’m going home on Saturday! I’m really excited, and also nervous, which I’m sure is normal, but it’s bothering me anyway. Part of me wonders if I’m ready. On one hand, I’m participating in therapy and taking medication and learning coping skills and all of that. On the other hand, most mornings I wake up in a panic and it’s still hard to finish my meals. But I guess I can’t be expected to be 100% recovered before I go home. Recovery is a process. Annie says that all the time._

_The phone session with my dad was dumb and short and I couldn’t talk much and he kept agreeing with everything Robin said even though I know he doesn’t agree with any of what she said because I know him and how he is. She thinks it was good anyway but I don’t know. I actually feel disappointed, and I don’t like that feeling, but I guess part of me had hoped that maybe he_ would _be different or there_ would _be some kind of breakthrough and our relationship would be fixed. I know that’s unrealistic, but...I don’t know. Anyway, it is what it is._

_“Toys and PE” is definitely one way to describe occupational therapy, and I’ll allow it. As I said, I’m a huge fan. It turns out a lot of my issues can be explained by sensory problems? Like why I need pressure on me (you or the blanket) or why sometimes I absolutely need to not be touched by anyone, or why I can’t wear some fabrics, or why sometimes sounds are too loud and lights are too bright and smells are too much. I always thought it was me making a big deal out of nothing, but apparently this happens to other people, too. Which is kind of comforting, and I guess does lend to the theory that maybe my meltdowns aren’t always 100% my fault. Maybe._

_Robin made me post-its that say “YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID” and “MELTDOWNS AREN’T YOUR FAULT,” and she wants me to have people I trust read them out loud to me. Shirley read them last night and I’m going to ask Annie to read them when she comes today. Now that you know the words, maybe you could read them to me next time we talk on the phone? I know it’s kind of silly but I was surprised how much hearing Shirley say it helped. Maybe I can learn to believe it before we have to resort to acting out_ Good Will Hunting.

_I can’t believe you remembered “six seasons and a movie.” Our movie is going to be more than amazing. It’ll be epic. And yes, our character growth arcs can have levels, even though it goes against convention. What levels do you think each of us are on now?_

_I love you, and I miss you, and I can’t wait until we don’t have to say the second one. And maybe once I get home we can talk on the phone, because we’ll be able to plan it, because I’ll be free._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

Annie is in a good mood when she gets to the hospital, and Abed is waiting right by the door for her. They walk toward the activity room, and Abed hands her his letter for Troy, and they take a seat at their usual table.

“I’m going home on Saturday,” Abed says with a smile. “Can someone pick me up? I don’t know when, but I’m sure I can find out ahead of time…”

“Of course!” Annie says. “Jeff will pick you up. He called dibs when Shirley texted last night to tell us all that you’d be coming home soon.”

“That’s nice of him,” Abed says.

“I think he still feels a little protective over you,” Annie replies. “Humor him, okay?”

Abed nods thoughtfully.

“I can’t wait to have you home!” Annie squeals. “It’s going to be so great.”

“It is,” Abed agrees. “I miss the blanket fort. And the Dreamatorium, obviously. And you. And movies.”

“Have you gotten to watch many movies here?” 

“I’ve watched the beginning of about 35 movies,” Abed says. “But no one can ever agree and they just keep changing it and it’s kind of infuriating. I think the only movie I’ve watched almost all of was _Scooby-Doo 2.”_

“Didn’t we watch that together once?” Annie asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah,” Abed says. “It wasn’t really much better the second time. Anyway, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Annie says. “What’s up?”

Abed reaches into his pocket and pulls out what Annie immediately recognizes as two folded up post-it notes. He unfolds them and passes them to her.

“Can you read these aloud to me?” he asks. “It’s for therapy. Shirley did it yesterday. I’m supposed to ask the people I trust to read them to me so that I’ll believe them.”

“Abed!” Annie exclaims. “Of course!” She feels honored to know that Abed trusts her, and glad to help him with this. “Ready?” she asks.

Abed nods and looks straight ahead.

“Your feelings are valid,” she reads carefully. “Meltdowns are not your fault. Abed -- you don’t believe these things?”

Abed shrugs, and Annie is horrified.

“So...every time you’ve had a meltdown and we’ve helped you, you thought that it was your fault? Like, that time I rearranged the blanket fort? Daylight savings time? _Cougar Town?_ ”

“Yeah,” Abed says quietly. “You really _didn’t_ think those were my fault?”

“No, Abed. I never did. And I guarantee none of the others did, either.”

“Okay,” he says, uncertainly.

“I’m sorry I never thought to tell you before,” Annie says, devastated. “It never occurred to me that you would blame yourself.”

Abed doesn’t say anything, and Annie decides to take a chance. She reaches her hand across the table.

He doesn’t hesitate before taking it in his own. She squeezes gently. They sit like that for a long time.


	15. Day Fifteen

Abed wakes up at three o’clock in the morning.

He thinks his chest is full of quicksand, his heart is being dragged down, disappearing, consumed. 

He can’t breathe or think or speak or scream. 

He scrambles out of bed because he thinks he’s suffocating.

He doesn’t know where to go but he can’t stay where he is right now, can’t stay still. 

He darts into the bathroom that they share with the next room over and closes the door without turning on the light.

He hates that these doors don’t lock because he feels raw and vulnerable. 

He goes into the shower stall and curls up on the floor, folding himself up as small as possible.

He is crying, and all his energy is going into staying silent. 

He doesn’t know how long it lasts.

He cries until he’s out of tears, until his eyes are itchy and his face is salty and his breath is coming out in gasps.

When his mind starts to clear a little, he remembers where he is.

He remembers that he’s not actually alone.

He remembers that there’s help here. 

He stands up, holding onto the wall of the shower to steady himself.

He shuffles out of the bathroom and down the hall.

He hasn’t caught his breath or wiped his face, and the patient tech on duty asks if he’s okay.

He’s not sure how to answer so he just kind of wobbles his head around in no particular direction. 

She asks if he wants to talk to his nurse, and this time he forces himself to nod. 

He sits down in a chair in the hall and the tech brings him a cup of water that he doesn’t drink. 

A few minutes later the nurse is there.

He takes Abed into a little room and asks him how he’s feeling.

Abed can’t answer.

The nurse asks him if he had a nightmare, but Abed doesn’t remember, so he just shrugs.

And then he asks Abed if he’s safe, and Abed nods.

And then he asks Abed if he wants to try the anxiety medication, and Abed shrugs again, and then nods again a moment later.

He can’t decide if this feels like defeat or victory. 

He takes the pill and goes back to the chair in the hall to wait for it to kick in.

The tech pulls up a page of _Inspector Spacetime_ memes on the computer to help distract him.

And it must work, because soon enough he becomes aware of his body again, and he’s yawning, his muscles sore from being tense for so long, and he finally makes his way back to bed. He falls asleep almost as soon as he lays down, taking deep breaths just because he finally can, trying to empty his mind and relax. He doesn’t know long he was awake, because there’s no clock in his room, but it must have been awhile because the next morning they let him sleep in late, and everyone else is done with breakfast by the time he gets up, and he doesn’t mind.

* * *

Jeff expects to find Abed looking happy and healthy when he comes to visiting hours, because they wouldn’t let him come home if he weren’t those things, right? And the Abed he finds is smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I hear you’re coming home soon,” Jeff says as he sits down and hands Abed the envelope with Troy’s letter. “Excited?”

“Very,” Abed replies. “And also kind of freaked out. I had a hard morning.”

“Is that why you look like you haven’t slept in a year?”

“Yeah, which is weird because they let me sleep in this morning. I don’t know. The anxiety medication makes me groggy sometimes, too, although I don’t think it should still be affecting me.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. According to my therapist, I ‘maintained my safety and remembered to ask for support,’” he says, with finger quotes and everything. “She’s pretty thrilled about it.”

“Good,” Jeff says. “Me too.”

“It’s good, but it also makes me nervous, because I feel like I should be cured if I’m going home.”

“Abed--”

“I know it doesn’t work that way. I just feel like it should. I know it’ll be fine. I heard you’re picking me up on Saturday?”

“Yup,” Jeff says, accepting the change of subject. “Do you know what time yet?”

“No,” Abed says, “but I’ll make sure you know before Saturday.”

“Deal. Also, I heard you need me to do something involving post-its and blame?” Shirley and Annie had both mentioned it to him, but he’s not sure he understood what they were talking about.

Abed explains the exercise and passes Jeff the post-its, and he reads them aloud to Abed. He reaches across the table to give them back, and Abed is sitting very still, and Jeff thinks his eyes weren’t so red a minute ago.

“It’s weird that I react so strongly every time one of you guys reads these to me,” Abed says, his voice strained. “You would think I would get used to hearing it by the third time. Maybe it’s just because it’s _you._ ”

“Because it’s me?” Jeff asks, confused. 

“I feel like…” Abed begins, and pauses. He bites his lip and clears his throat. “I kind of feel like you saved me. I don’t think I was in actual danger of dying or anything, but I guess by that point I already felt pretty dead, and then you brought me here, and ever since then things have been getting better, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. And I’m just really grateful to you for finding me and staying with me and supporting me. 

“I know we haven’t been talking as much as we did the first few days in the hospital, because I’m usually pretty talked-out by the time you get here to visit, but I really care about what you have to say. And I think that’s why it kind of hit me harder just now, when you read those things. It’s not that I don’t think Shirley and Annie meant them, because they did, and I got kind of emotional with Shirley, too. 

“But when you tell me my feelings are valid and my meltdowns aren’t my fault, I picture waking up in the hospital with you next to me, and one of the first things you told me was that you had stayed with me because you know I hate doctors, and…” 

Abed takes a breath. 

“And you’re my family, and I did a terrible thing--”

Jeff narrows his eyes at Abed, but he doesn’t say a word, he can’t, and Abed tries again.

“A terrible thing happened, and you still stayed. I never thought someone would stay with me through something like that, and you did. And that’s a level of trust I’ve never really known before, and that means that when you tell me the things on the post-its, I kind of feel like I owe it to you to at least try to believe you. So that’s what I’m doing. And...how’s that for a Winger Speech?” 

Abed looks at Jeff, and Jeff is frozen, and he knows his eyes must be just as red as Abed’s, and he keeps trying to blink tears away but it’s not really working. And then Abed scoots his chair over so he’s sitting next to Jeff, and he leans over and rests his head on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff pats Abed on the back.

“Excellent speech,” he says, his voice rough and his heart full.

“Cool,” Abed replies. “Cool, cool, cool.”

* * *

**_FROM:_ ** _Barnes, Troy_

**_TO:_ ** _Edison, Annie_

**_SUBJ:_ ** _Last letter for Abed -- Thank you for everything Annie!!!!!!!!!!_

_Dear Abed,_

_If I’m counting the days right, this is going to be my last letter to you! I’m so excited and so, so proud of you. I bet Annie can’t wait to have you home again. Is it weird knowing you’ve been away so long when you didn’t plan to go away in the first place? I feel like that would wrinkle my brain a little bit._

_So much has changed in that time, too -- it seems like maybe you’ve gotten closer to the study group, especially Jeff. You have resources and coping tools when things are tough. You have a boyfriend, even if he’s across the freaking ocean for a while. I think you’re going home to a much better situation than you left, and I’m really glad for that._

_Sorry things didn’t go great with your dad. I guess the good news is, it didn’t make anything worse, right? It’s okay to be disappointed, though. I know you guys have a complicated relationship. I think it’s awesome that you even tried. I really, really do._

_Abed, I know you have issues with sensory stuff and I never thought you were “making a big deal out of nothing,” and it’s important to me that you know that. I have known people who are picky, and that’s not you. I’m really happy that you have professional people to help you understand and deal with those kinds of things now, though, and it sucks that it took something like this happening for you to get that._

_That post-it thing is an awesome idea!! I will totally read them to you as soon as I have a chance. I can’t wait until I get to hear your voice again._

_Regarding our growth arcs, I think I’m on character level 5. And you’re on character level 100. I’m not sure what the scale is yet, but those numbers seem right for now._

_I love you and I can’t wait to talk to you when you’re back at the apartment. I’m so, so, so proud of you. I hate that you had to go through such a difficult thing but also maybe it was worth it, because it seems like a lot of good things have happened, and you’re getting better. You deserve to be happy, Abed, you deserve to be so, so, so happy._

_Write me one more letter before you leave, okay? And we’ll talk very, very soon._

_Love,_

_Troy_


	16. Day Sixteen

Abed will be going home basically first thing tomorrow morning, so today is the day to make sure he’s ready. Robin has gotten him an appointment with a therapist outside the hospital, which Abed is very wary about, but he doesn’t really have a choice, and besides, he kind of trusts Robin at this point. He credits her with saving him just as much as Jeff, and it’s weird to think he’ll never see her again.

He also has appointments with a new psychiatrist and an occupational therapist, and the last time he had this many doctor’s appointments at once was when he was a little kid, and thankfully this feels nothing like that. He has agency over his healthcare this time. He is learning how to recover, he’s not being dragged around by people desperate to find out what’s wrong with him.

He thinks that one of the best things about this place is that the people here don’t act like there’s anything wrong with him at all. Everyone here has their own challenges, their own disorders and behaviors and diagnoses, but that doesn’t mean that there’s anything _wrong_ with them. For the first time in his life, Abed feels like maybe he’s not actually broken, after all. 

He’s in a place where he can tell Sam or Emily about the stop-animation Christmas episode, or the lava episode, and they don’t say, “Abed, TV isn’t real life,” they say, “I’ve had an episode like that, too,” or “That sounds awful, I’m sorry you went through that,” and the first time that happened he was shocked to have someone commiserate instead of call him crazy or try to fix him (or both), and it’s nice.

He is going to miss his friends, and not having too many responsibilities, and not having to wear shoes, which freaked him out at first but he’s gotten used to it, and now he has an extensive collection of hospital socks to bring home.

He is not going to miss 15-minute checks, or Ensure shakes, or having so much therapy every single day. He won’t miss the hospital food, or sharing the television with a dozen other people, or not having access to the internet or his movie collection. He’s definitely not going to miss being stuck indoors, and he never learned to like cranberry juice _or_ decaf coffee.

Mostly, he just can’t wait to be with the whole study group again, to sleep in his own bed, to be at home at the apartment with Annie, to talk to Troy on the phone. He’s also terrified to go back to school, and to be back at the apartment without Troy again, to fit back into his life after being so fundamentally changed, and to keep up his progress outside of here. He’s finally looking a little less skeletal, and all of his stitches and scratches are fully healed, and he feels whole for the first time in a long time, and it just feels like a huge responsibility not to ruin that.

He decides to do what he does best: frame it like a movie. He pictures himself three weeks ago, and then he plays a montage in his mind, watches little flashes of everything that’s happened. It settles him a little, lets him see his progress, lets him believe in it, and by the end he thinks maybe he’s got this after all.

* * *

_Dear Troy,_

_Welcome to your last letter from crazy people jail, although actually, it really doesn’t feel like jail anymore, and I guess that’s a good thing, and maybe illustrates my recovery? Or maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome. Who knows._

_I don’t have a confession or a crisis to write to you about today. Most of what I’m doing here at this point is wrapping things up. My roommate actually went home yesterday, so that timing worked out kind of nicely. Emily is still here. I have all these appointments when I get out of here, for therapy and stuff, and I’m trying not to let it overwhelm me. It helps to remember I won’t be seeing all of them every day anymore._

_I lied -- I do have a confession. I’m nervous to go back to our apartment, to live there without you again. Because of how it was last time. I feel bad saying that to you, and I know it’s unfair, but that’s just how I’m feeling. Logically I know it’s going to be fine. I just miss you._

_I really, really miss you._

_I miss hanging out with you and going in the Dreamatorium with you and watching_ Inspector Spacetime _with you and acting out the_ Kickpuncher _movies with you. I miss our handshake and sharing a bunk bed and rapping. I miss looking at you, hearing your voice. I miss touching you._

_I’m going to keep getting better, and you’re going to grow so much, and when you get home, things are going to be amazing, and I can’t wait._

_This morning I was feeling nervous about leaving, so I ran a montage in my head of the last three weeks. It started with old me and ended with me now, and there were a lot of differences, but there was one that stood out on top of all the others, and that was hope._

_I love you, Troy. Talk to you soon._

_Love,_

_Abed_

* * *

“Are you excited?” Britta asks that night. “This is your last visit where we have to schedule it in advance and they lock my belongings up on the way in!”

“Huh,” Abed replies. “I actually didn’t realize they did that. And yes, I am excited.”

Britta isn’t great at keeping secrets, but this one is important, so she’s trying to keep herself distracted.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “I mean, how do you feel about all of this? Everything that’s happened?”

“I feel pretty good,” Abed says. “Right now at least. It’s kind of up and down a lot, I guess. Which is really frustrating, but I’m trying to just go with it.”

“That’s fair,” Britta replies. “You know we’re all here for you, right? When things aren’t great?”

“Yes,” Abed says. “Which reminds me, will you read post-its to me?”

Shirley, Annie, and Jeff have already told Britta about the exercise, so she is prepared.

“Absolutely,” she says, and when Abed passes them to her, he also hands her a letter for Troy.

Britta bites down on the inside of her mouth so she doesn’t smile, doesn’t give anything away. She directs her concentration to the post-its, which she unfolds and reads out loud to Abed.

“Thank you,” Abed says quietly, and he gets up and walks to Britta and gives her a quick hug, and Britta’s heart melts. Abed sits back down.

“So, how’s it going with this, anyway?” Britta asks. “Are you starting to believe that your feelings are valid and your meltdowns aren’t your fault?”

“Maybe,” Abed says, thoughtfully. “More than I did at the beginning, I guess.”

“That’s progress,” Britta says, and she’s proud of Abed.

“Thanks for visiting me so many times,” Abed says. “And for helping me correspond with Troy.”

Britta startles at the mention of Troy, but she doesn’t betray anything.

“I like visiting you,” she says. “I care about you, Abed. And I want to do whatever I can to help you and be here for you, so just let me know if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m trying to be better about that.”

“I’m going to try to be better about noticing if you struggle.”

“Don’t hover, though, okay?” Abed says warily. “I can’t...I don’t want that.”

“Deal,” Britta says. “If you notice me start to hover, call me out, and I’ll stop.”

“Deal,” Abed agrees, and they shake hands.

At the end of visiting hours, Britta walks outside of the hospital and lets out a huge sigh of relief. She’s actually pretty surprised that she made it through the entire visit without letting anything slip.

She gets in her car and heads to the airport to pick up Troy.

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day seventeen is the last chapter of "Intro to Emotional Regulation," so we've reached the end. I kind of can't believe it's finally done and I thank you so much for reading and all of your lovely comments. I anticipate some more one shots in the future to cover the rest of Troy's visit, although it may not be right away.
> 
> Feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr @1mechanicalalligator <3


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